The End
by Rosellyia
Summary: Harry Potter died. The end. —Or not? Given a second chance, Harry seeks justice and, more importantly, truth. But what truth is ever pretty? Not those of the past, and certainly not those of Tom Riddle. Beneath it all, what of the truth about Harry? Clichéd, we know, but not everything is as it seems. Who needs black and white when there's so many shades of grey? fem!HP/TMR
1. Prologue

**_This story is Non-Deathly Hallows Compliant and Contains the Female Harry, also contains mature content and/or language. Viewer discretion is advised._**

_Summary:_

_Harry Potter has just died. The end. Not the ending everyone desired, but that's that—right? It would've been if some nosy spectator hadn't decided otherwise. Guess it's back to Hogwarts for Harry again, with just a few minor changes that is. Like gender. And time periods… Not to mention murderous, megalomaniac, teenage dark wizards._

_Determined to succeed this time around, Harry seeks justice and truth, but who said that the truth would be reassuring? Fifty year old secrets, lies and scandals will be unearthed, but what of the truth about himself? Maybe darkness didn't lurk in just the obvious._

_Harry will realize that not everything is as it seems, and that maybe the end shouldn't be hoping for a new beginning._

Disclaimer: It's not mine.

**Edit. : Monday, January 16, 2012.**

The End

**Prologue**

_"This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."_

_—Winston Churchill._

* * *

Usually when you're evil, you're evil to the core. Well, that's what Harry Potter had thought anyways.

It was just the good and bad for him; light and dark, black and white. There wasn't a shade of grey, not one that anyone acknowledged that is.

If you had "darkness" in you, you were automatically the enemy and taken down as such. If you appeared to do "good", no one would see much further.

Harry grew up with the world, and it's faults, burdened upon his shoulders, as the Boy-Who-Lived, as the one who survived. He was the Saviour. A Child of Prophecy. The Chosen One.

And unfortunately, no one was about to let him forget.

_"You'll be honoured in death"_

_"You're fighting for the greater good"_

_"The world is counting on you."_

_"You were chosen."_

People often told him how proud they were, how great he was, and what a deed he was doing for everyone, but was it worth it to be their saviour?

Was it worth the praise? _The criticism?_

The love? _The hate?_

The money? _The charity?_

The fame? _The scandals?_

What was it really worth?

A death? Or two? Maybe five? Twenty? _Any_?

Truthfully speaking, it really didn't matter if it was worth anything at all—simply because no one truly cared.

Ironic, isn't it? While the world expects Harry Potter unravel its solution and bring salvation, it would never reciprocate and listen what he had to say.

They would hear they wished. See what they willed. Remember what they wanted. And understood only what was evident.

And there the evidence was, the cold, hard truth, he was their saviour and he failed to save.

* * *

**_May 2nd, 1998  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
_****_Great Hall _**

Harry was sweating profoundly, gripping his holly wand with moist hands, trying to force away the overbearing pressure, from the expectations of the spectators and the pounding curse itself.

_They're treating it like a show, like it's all some scene from a life-depraving soap opera. Is it a good show? Exciting? Terrifying? Dramatic? Too close to reality for comfort?_

His arm ached from attempting to hold his own against the harsh green light that was slowly, but surely advancing foreword.

_Green. Bright green. Bright, bright, bright. Green, green, green. Green. —I have green eyes, green like my mother's eyes. Wonder if this green is like my eyes?_

Harry gritted his teeth from the numbing pain on his right arm, clenching even harder on the wand to prevent it from slipping out of his clammy grasp. The sweat was making it exceedingly hard.

_It's like holding a girl's hand for the first time. Who was my first, again? Cho? Ginny? ...Hermione?_

His knuckles were bone-white from his grip; nails digging further into his palm and letting red, red blood trickle down his pale forearm.

_Why does it hurt so good? Kill so perfectly? —Odd. Don't remember masochism being my thing since, well, NEVER._

Harry looked determined on the outside, green eyes blazing along with the offending curse. Yet internally, he was in a lucid state, as if he was just like the rest, like he was also just a spectator.

_Is this a dream? Am I dreaming? Nightmare? Maybe?_

The blue glimmer flowing steadily from his wand fluctuated a bit, letting the green light to slowly start to overcome it, inching closer than what was comfortable. A small flame of doubt lit within Harry.

_I'm supposed to win, right? I have to win. —Will I win?_

He could feel the air crackle with magic; it was somber, it was miserable, it was uncomfortably tense, but it was also angrily powerful. The power stabbed his insides in a pleasant way, warming his magical core. You could almost physically see his lighter aura clashed dangerously with his opponent's, sparking the air.

_I see fireworks…_

He wasn't in the right mind. He wondered if he had ever been in the right mind.

_I agreed to die, for God's sake! Even more than once, too..._

He couldn't even pay attention to what was occurring before him. It was as if he was an outsider to his own duel. But he knew he couldn't afford a loss because of the numbing sorrow eating away at his already questionable sanity.

_I got to snap out of it! Out, out, out? I wonder if— No. Focus._

Through his peripheral vision, he could see that the Great Hall was piled with his fallen schoolmates, both those who fought with the good and the evil, but noticeably more of his own friends lay in bloodied heaps.

His tear ducts stung, but he had already cried enough in the past few hours that his eyes seemed to refuse to let anymore water out. So, he steeled his resolve and faced his opponent head on with all of his strength, jaw clenched and eyes set.

_I'll be their brave little soldier. I will do it for them. I promised to succeed._

•••••••

Glaring into the red eyes of his greatest adversary and deadliest opponent, Lord Voldemort, Harry knew that it was now or never.

The tall, pale, serpentine man, the Lord Voldemort, held his long yew wand, the brother to Harry's holly, in his right hand while clenching the Elder Wand in his left. A bright light, peculiarly green like Harry's eyes, was pushing its way towards the boy from his pale wand, being stopped by just a glimmer blue.

He was sure of his win, as the boy looked positively lost with his dazed green eyes, but the self-assured twist to his lip-less mouth soon fell into an, almost, feral snarl.

The glimmer of blue light spontaneously sparked powerfully from his opponent's wand and began to grow, eating away at his own curse, which had once been dominating.

As blue grew, green faded, inching a bit too close than that of Voldemort's liking. His scowl deepened further, eyes flashing viciously and more severely.

The green light escalated into double it's luminosity, faint wisps of both faint greys and black intertwining with the darkened green, and thrashed forward violently.

The two spells were now equally strong, each assaulting the other ruthlessly at the middle, but the _Avada Kedavra _seemed to grow stronger with Voldemort's hatred, just as Harry's Expelliarmus was decidedly dimming.

Suddenly, the bright blue light seemed to swiftly devour itself and withdraw into the holly wand, causing the green to strike fast and engulf the surroundings in a blinding light.

As the light faded, Harry could be seen, slowly falling to the ground.

It was as if everything was played on slow motion. Dramatics were in order.

The cold glimmer of triumph flashing from Voldemort's snake-like crimson eyes as the life in Harry's vibrant green ones faded into oblivion. Cold, menacing, high-pitched laughter echoed throughout the once Great Hall. Voldemort cackled like there was no tomorrow and stood victoriously above Harry Potter's dead carcass.

He lifted his wand; a new power had filled him, the power of the true Master of the Elder Wand. He laughed harder and more emotionlessly than before, almost bringing impossible tears to his icy red eyes.

It was true when people say, "Nothing shows a man's character more than what he laughs."

The people in the Hall visibly shuddered.

* * *

**_Specific Date Unknown  
Somewhere in between the sheets of Time and Fate  
Unknown Location _**

Harry awoke, groggy and tired. Blinking slowly a few times, he observed his surroundings. There was nothing, a desolate wasteland of nothingness. There was no ground or sky, just pale gray mist swirling everywhere.

Then he remembered that he had died. He remembered taunting laughter. But that was all.

Other than a few flashes of pale skin and scarlet eyes, he remembered little to anything.

_Who am I? What am I? Where am I? What just happened?_

Sinking to the floor and covering his face with his hands, he breathed in and sighed deeply. Only to feel the tingling feeling of his cold breath passing through his hand, raising the hair on his neck.

Looking down at his hands, he saw pale skin like before, but now instead of its normal rosy hue, he saw a translucent grey, or rather he saw _through_ it.

His jaw just dropped.

It all came back, the green curse, Voldemort's laughter, the Great Hall, his own magic devouring itself; all of it.

_Am I dead? I can't be dead! This is not happening! Shit! Shit! Shit! I can't be! There isn't a train station or anything! And Dumbledore isn't here! And, and, and— ...Am I a wizard or not?_

Quickly reaching in his robe and taking out his wand from the pocket he usually kept it in, seeing that it wasn't currently lying near him, he whispered desperately.

"_Point Me."_

The wand spun frantically around his palm, his disturbingly see-through palm, and seemed confused as it kept pointing at random directions, unable to find the North.

Refusing the urge to snap the wand into two, Harry sighed exasperatedly and tucked it back into its place inside his robes.

He then began frantically pacing back and forth; clenching his eyes shut tight before flashing them open as if it would somehow break the spell. His very own spell of death.

Then, he abruptly stopped, choosing to turn towards his left and sprinting off into the mist.

•••••••

He couldn't hear a thing, not even the sound of his breath, the pattering of his feet, not even the beat of his own heart.

He had been running for what he had estimated to be hours.

_Something isn't right. There isn't anything here. Not the murmuring of the dead, not a specter wandering, and not even any sort of scenery, other than the indistinct grey mist. —I'm fucked._

At the thought, there was a large, unexpected "CRACK!" from behind him, successfully jolting him internally and making him jump up in shock.

Spinning around to meet the sound, and almost tripping over his feet, he instinctively reached for his wand in his robes, only to find nothing there.

After glancing around, looking for the wand and wondering where he had lost it, he finally looked upward angrily, where he found himself staring at an androgynous figure, which was too ethereal to be described as beautiful.

Its long hair was fine and a delicate hue of silver, with matching pale eyes.

The being had pale skin pigmented like Harry's own translucent complexion, but like its eyes and hair, it seemed to glow strangely silver.

Its face was not beautiful, not even pretty, but something of indescribable allure. It was otherworldly and scared Harry just a bit.

"Are you looking for this, child?" The being spoke, its voice a surprising husky tone rather than melodious.

In its raised hand, it held a wooden wand that seemed to dimly glow through the gloomy grey mist.

Looking disbelievingly at the wand and at the being, before checking his pockets once more, Harry pointed an accusing finger at the being.

"Who are you? What do you want? When did you steal my wand? Where am I? _Why _am I here?" Harry gruffly questioned, his voice cracking frequently.

"Child, you ask so many questions and I have so little time. All you need to know is that _I _am Fate, and you are dead."

"What?"

"I believe that I had said you were—"

"No! That's impossible! I couldn't have died!" Harry frantically interrupted, "I had promised my friends that I would fulfill their dreams! You're a liar! Liar! Lia—"

"It seems that you've broken your promise. I am not the liar in this instance, for that would be you," Fate's indifferent voice interrupted, delivering the statement, not cruelly, but matter-of-factly.

He visibly crumbled, both on the outside and on the inside.

"I, I, I—"

"_You_, in particular, are here because neither the Living nor Dead can accept you. You were prophesized to save all, but you failed and left many rather—unsatisfied. You are to be given one more chance. One _last_ chance. You _are_ the Saviour, no?"

"I don't know anymore. I just don't know. I can't remember why I fought so hard if not even my own magic would believe in me at the end. It had just decided to give up. It was tired, not from exhaustion or over-use but from believing in me. It doesn't matter who I am or who I _was_," Harry said.

Fate smiled humourlessly, "You will remember. Remember it, and change all that was in the past."

With a wave of hand, a beautifully gold-framed mirror appeared, spun from the nothingness. Images flickered slowly, gradually becoming faster. Harry could see glimpses of events and memories he had lived through in the rapidly moving pictures.

His parents' death. His time beneath the cupboard. Dudley and the Harry Huntings. First words of Parseltongue. Hogwart's letter arriving. His friends. His "family". Voldemort. Voldemort. _Voldemort._

They just kept going and going and going, round and round and round, making Harry's head feel disoriented and ache.

Abruptly, they stopped at the destined time.

Harry stood by a mirror, watching his own death replay itself.

Anger begins to boil, but beneath it a helplessness as he watches himself die.

Seeing his own being thrown back into the pile of dead friends and foes causes more anger to churn in the pits of his stomach than seeing his own death.

_My friends. My family. I'm sorry._

The Weasley family, all red-headed, was thrown to one side, ripped apart. You couldn't tell which body was whose.

He could see the once beautiful Ginny, so full of life, now dismembered like a broken porcelain doll. Her head sat there staring, as blood dripped from her eyes, nose and ears.

A tall boy lay a few feet from that pile. He was ripped open and disemboweled, as well as headless. He could only guess whom it was judging his singled out body from the Weasley family. His best mate, brother and one of the most wanted Undesirables, Ron.

Teeth sank into his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. His fists clenched as the image changed.

Hermione, oddly stunning and intelligent, was Harry's best friend and dearest sister. Tears prickled his eyes as he saw her lifeless form.

Hermione's once plentiful dark brown curls were sheared short and her chocolate brown eyes, hauntingly, wide-open. Harry couldn't bear to gaze upon the large, gaping hole on the top of her head.

It was gone.

She could never read again, as they had stolen her most prized possession, her brain.

Harry felt a tear trickle down his face, teasingly slow, which he quickly reached up and wiped it away.

He couldn't turn away from the mirror, his friends and only family, it would be a dishonour to those who gave their lives if he couldn't even face their deaths.

Whispering gruffly, he turned towards the being.

"You can't change it. You can't change the past! It's already ended. It can't be changed."

"I couldn't, but maybe you could."

He could see Luna, no longer having the dreamy daze in her eyes, as a look of blank terror was pasted upon her eccentrically bold yet delicately formed face.

She had been hit with several _Crucios _before a simple Avada Kedavra, much less brutal, but not more painless.

Neville lay there, throat slit and still crying, tears sliding down his demure face.

More and more others were murdered, some brutally with the "mudblood" ways that the Death Eater hated and looked down upon, while others were defiled after their death.

He fisted his hands and clamped his eyes closed, teeth chewing the insides of his mouth, drawing fresh, tangy blood.

A moment passed. It was silent, except for the faint grinding sound of teeth.

Harry's face suddenly slackened, green eyes wide and freely letting out all that suppressed anger and tears.

His mouth was screaming, but no words came out, only a wretched howl.

He screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

His screams were hoarse, enraged and bone-chilling, and though they were not forming words, the sound alone spoke the unspoken with complete clarity.

"I'll do it. I'll stop him. I'll do anything, just stop it! Stop it. Stop. Stop. _Stop._" He spun away from the mirror to face the so-called "Fate", his own face was pale and tear-stricken, his breath coming out uneven and shaky.

"'Anything'? That could be a sacrifice to everything that is now yours." You could almost hear a smile in lilting into the monotone, just _almost_.

"I don't care. I would do it! What do I have now, anyways? At least, I could keep my promises this time. I'll be stronger than before. I would do _anything _to change what's past."

Frantically, Harry wiped away the tears that insisted on flowing constantly, clenching his jaw with resolve.

"I'll mark your words then, Harry Potter. Remember, you said 'anything'."

"I will definitely keep my word, no matter what consequences, but is it even possible to change it? How could I change it? It's already past."

"You'll go back, of course. You'll go backwards and change what is needed to be changed."

"What do you mean?" His voice was ladled with a tinge of suspicion beneath the unease.

"Precisely what I said, Harry Potter."

"Time travel?"

"Indeed."

"To when exactly then, huh?"

"Fifty years, Harry Potter. Fifty, or so, years."

"WHAT! Why would I go that far back?"

"You aren't quite the wittiest, are you? But, nevertheless, you'll work out something, _eventually_, when you get there. Or, so I would hope." Silver eyes were amused, and the twist of its lips depicted a wry smirk.

Harry looked at the being as if it were crazy, emerald eyes clearly uncertain and a slight bit offended from the wittiness comment.

"Um, Mister, uh... Mr. Fate? Don't bad things happen to those who mess with the past to that extent? Plus, is it even possible to travel that far into the past? I mean, a few hours was one fucking thing but this is years! Fifty, fucking, years!"

"You are able to travel through Time because I am twisting it in your favor, but if your reason for the travel is gone, you shall forever roam here, in what we call 'Nowhere'. Fitting name, no? _I_ think so, at least... Others call it some different names, too; the Limbo, the In Between, the Purgatory, and so on and so forth. It's what you call a place of neither here nor there.

"In any case, you are able to change the past but you must realize that there will be repercussions. Any one of your actions could set off a butterfly effect, of either positive or negative, for those in the future. You have now become the one who will be spinning the world's fate, so choose carefully. There won't be a second chance once again. After all, this was _already_ your end, and greediness is sorely frowned upon."

Fate closed its silver eyes and the surroundings faded into a black oblivion.

Harry could feel a harsh prick of millions of needles against his skin.

He felt his bones crack and reform, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip through the air.

Harry felt the ground give away from underneath.

* * *

**_August 11th, 1944  
_****_Diagon Alley_****_, London  
_****_Some Back Alley_**

He fell onto a stone paved path, legs and arms numb.

Standing shakily, he observed his surroundings.

It looked as if he was in a back alley, and from where he leaned against the cold wall, he could see men and women walking leisurely.

They were certainly wizards and witches judging by their attire, as well as the fact the street had a rather old-fashioned resemblance to Diagon Alley.

Cautiously trudging out of the alley with the help of the brick wall, Harry straightened his stiff muscles and paced down the street, attempting to blend in.

Looking about, he gasped in shock.

It wasn't the familiar warm crackle of magic, nor was it completely restored Diagon Alley.

Those were indeed marvelous and surprising but it was his face reflected back to him in a shiny shop window that truly shook him.

Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to "anything" as quickly as he did.

Maybe he should remained wandering around "Nowhere".

Maybe he regretted it.

Maybe, maybe?

Too bad that it's _definitely_ too late to go back.

The end of Harry Potter certainly brought a new, and most likely disastrous, result.

* * *

**Read&Review.**


	2. Chapter 1

**_This story is Non-Deathly Hallows Compliant and Contains the Female Harry, also contains mature content and/or language. Viewer discretion is advised._**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter Series. :)

**Edit. : Monday, January 16, 2011.**

The End

**First Chapter**

Harry James Potter felt skeptical, even as he reached up and stroked his face gently.

He explored all the soft contours, free of any blemishes and full of fine bone structure.

He couldn't believe it.

The sunlight glistened off of the freshly cleaned window, causing the reflection to tauntingly waver. Well, causing the reflection to waver _more_, that is—Harry had lost his glasses sometime ago, and could only see just clear enough—as he was only a foot or so away from the window—while squinting.

But from what he could see of reflection was it's uncanny resemblance to him, but yet at the same time, Harry was almost positive whoever reflected wasn't quite him.

He wasn't sure what exactly made him so confident that the image reflected wasn't him, he _just_ _knew_ something was amiss, but what exactly was wrong with it?

_His hair was the same messy shoulder-length pool of inky sable._

Harry remembers being envious of his own fiercely untameable locks once, wondering why he couldn't be like more like them—unrestricted and undaunted. People often told him to just cut off that mess he deemed hair or at the very least tie it up, but he never bothered to listen.

Despite being constantly nagged that the Saviour shouldn't look so uncouth or that Gryffindor's Golden Boy shouldn't look so depressing, he could never bring himself to cut his lengthening locks. Which he never understood as to why not.

Maybe it was because he always felt a sense of satisfaction whenever the unruly strands would unwind from restraints, always flying away from within its confinements—something he wished often he could do, to break away from that figurative cage he had been born into.

Isn't it silly; that his idea of freedom is comparable to his hair?

_Then there's his eyes, his mother's eyes, Lily Evans' last legacy, the same brilliant green eyes that even Fate had to respect._

As a child, Harry loved staring into his reflection whenever he could, constantly scrutinizing his own eyes. Whether it'd be within a pan he had diligently washed or pieces of broken glass thrown his way, all Harry wished was to catch a glimpse of those green, green eyes that never looked quite right. He could've sworn he spent hours just watching the captivating myriad of greens shift in the lighting, dancing across his pupils with unpredictable grace.

It was like watching an artist at work; dashes of lighter greens blooming from a darker base, swirling and blending around the iris to produce haphazard sweeps of viridescent tones.

He really loved those eyes, maybe even loved them more than he could care for anything else, himself included.

Those eyes would always represent his mother—his cold, dead mother—who was the only person he was certain had loved him unconditionally, who had sacrificed that love for him and only him.

When he had been alive—truly so, not this facsimile of life he had just obtained—he had made sure to reciprocate that love, always making sure that his eyes, _her_ eyes, wouldn't become like the woman herself—cold and dead.

While Harry had made so sure to fill them with at least _something_ in life, the life after his death was another story in itself.

_Speaking of death, his skin still had its unhealthily pale pallor that reminded him distinctly of Death itself._

He could almost hear Hermione's voice in the air, urging him to eat more, to sleep more, to take better care of himself.

He would've if he could. But he couldn't.

Harry couldn't bear to swallow, not even a few bites of the measly bits of food they had, without purging. Not when he could plainly smell Death's arrival, when he could see the darkened blood upon his pale hands, when he could _taste_ it all scrapping down his throat—the blood, the death.

The mere thought of ingesting food made him feel like retching the empty contents of his stomach. And not too long after, he couldn't even bear to drink the nutritional potions Hermione had concocted especially for him—certainly not when the flavourless mix began tasting of a familiar rust sidling down his throat.

So, he just got paler and paler.

_It was all there; dark hair, green eyes and pale skin, but even if the resemblance was almost perfect, Harry still saw otherwise._

If you decided to look close enough (which Harry was, considering he was just barely a hair's breadth away from smooshing his face into the pane), the high cheekbones and sharp jawlines were considerably softer, more delicate.

His crooked nose, from being broken one too many times, was no longer crooked, and sitting symmetrically straight.

Once leathery and calloused skin was now uncomfortably smooth and soft to the touch.

Dry, cracked lips, were still in their same shape but he could just tell how disgustingly pouty the lower lip had become.

Harry detested it all, he decided in sudden conviction.

It annoyed him how this impostor in the shop window looked so naively innocent while basking in the sunlight— the sunlight he rarely had an opportunity to enjoy.

It irritated him to no extent that the said impostor was wearing his features—and the fact his features that seemed to taint the perfection.

It made him despise the reflection even more at the thought that it would never be him, no, _was _never him—and shouldn't ever be_._

_That's right. It's not me. It can't be me._

"So, who are you?"

The reflection remained still, mimicking his lip movements with its own, it's expression fixed with the same intense irritation that Harry knew he himself wore.

"Well? Answer me!"

A few of the occupants on the road turned towards him for a moment, but uninterestedly turned away as if it was nothing. Craziness in wizards was nothing—as if magic itself wasn't sane.

The infuriating reflection just glared back at Harry, defiantly challenging him with an familiar expression Harry had seen somewhere millions of times.

"I asked you, 'Who are you?'"

No answer.

Anger began to well up from the once irritation, making him stab his fingernails deep into the palms of him hands to refrain from smashing his fist into someone else's shop window.

Still the reflection merely ignored the question to mimic Harry's infuriated expression.

So, he asked the question a multiple of times more, as if the greater times it was asked, the greater the chance of a reply.

He was wrong.

Not once was there an answer to the incessant questioning on Harry held.

"Who are you?" This time, the question was bellowed, causing silence to wash over the crowds of people proceeding down Diagon Alley.

Within the silence he could hear the way people's eyes turned and stared, feel the heat of their gazes.

___I must look insane. _I must be insane. What am I doing in the middle of a crowded street? Who would be questioning a reflection on who it is when it's already evident. —Wait…already evident? 

Harry blinked owlishly, before realizing that he had just spent—wasted, really—at least ten minutes of his life questioning his _**own** reflection._

He felt idiotic; how was it possible that he had _just_ realized that there was a single thing that could've identified him and wouldn't have made him seem both retarded and insane from conducting an interrogation with _himself._

And there the identification innocently sat, situated there like every other time, just above his polished right-brow.

A distinct lightning-bolt scar, sticking out like a pale, white flag of surrender upon an otherwise smooth forehead.

Harry felt sort of cheated that, while all of the other pale wisps of scars that once scratched across his face—his medals of honour of sorts—seemed to be non-existent, the only one that tied him to the Boy-Who-Lived remained.

_What was that saying again? Something about bird changing feathers, or was it feather changing birds, but it's still remaining nonetheless the same? Yeah, well, it fucking sucks._

The lightning bolt scar that has haunted him since he was only fifteen months old has done it again; it manages to ruin him, disappoint him and dash all hopes of the stupid impostor in the window not being him, all at the same time.

_Stupid scar. I hate you._

Displeasure washed over him, and rage poured through him making his magic lash out.

The first syllable of '_Reducto' _was about to tumble from his lips, his wand already pointed at the shop window, when he heard the idle whispering and suspicious glances directed towards him.

_Damn, I must look really suspicious…Not only am I screaming at no one, but also I'm waving about a wand in the middle of a crowded street. Really inconspicuous, Harry. A trip to St. Mungo's is just what I need._

Spinning around to face the small gathering of magical citizens all looking pointedly at him, he mustered up his voice—which he sheepishly noted had only been raised a single pitch higher than before—and grinned ruefully.

"Er— Oh, um, hi. I was just, you know, yeah, and like, so yeah… I must look really, um, yeah, I mean, I was, I w-was, uh, just practicing. Yeah... Not anything suspicious, yeah, um, just you know, a script. Just practicing..."

The way Harry had managed to make his own voice so clear and yet so bumbling at the same time made him feel quite proud.

_You'd think a stuttering individual would be really suspicious— _

The crowd just turned away from the teen, muttering about a waste of time and nothing to see.

_—which they are. But there's also the fact that people are just so **fucking** **oblivious**. From what I've learned from past experience, a.k.a. Voldemort taking residence in Prof. Quirrel's head, it turns out that stuttering and speech impediments can be taken to be a sign of stupidity, and what's the advantage of that? People are, surprisingly, less suspicious of you. Kudos to Quirrel._

When the crowd dispersed, Harry returned to glowering at his reflection. He wasn't sure if he was marveled by it or totally resentful of it.

But that didn't quite matter, as Harry still couldn't quite grasp the reality that his once scarred and worn face had become so... innocent, at least it was as innocent as it could ever be when his own seasoned features were still present as well.

So, in conclusion, it was _almost_ innocent looking, _almost_ fragile like a doll's, and _almost_ feminine.

The only certainty was that it was pretty.

_But what use is a pretty face in war?_

It wasn't quite the 'pretty boy' pretty like Harry used to be classified as, but the type of prettiness girls usually exude—no matter their physical appearance.

_The type of 'pretty' even girls like Millicent 'The Bull' Bulstrode and Pansy 'Pug-face' Parkinson can exude... at times. Though very, **very** rarely._

Harry shuddered in disgust at his own thoughts of describing either one of those girls as something even _vaguely_ pretty; he let the thoughts of stew distastefully for a moment before turning back uneasily to examine his own reflection.

_I look, so, so, —disgustingly delicate, like a flower, or a swan, or even a girl... —WAIT! A girl, a fucking girl? No bloody way! _

Frantically pulling his worn, grey sweatshirt away by the collar and looking downward to search for any evidence that (hopefully) contradicted any suspicions, he found...exactly he was definitely _not_ looking for.

Green eyes widened in horror at the sight of it. Mouth was hanging agape and speechless.

You would have thought that Harry saw either Voldemort or Death in corporeal form; in fact, he wished it was for once, —but it wasn't.

It was much, much, _much, _worse_._

Sure, there wasn't much there, but it was the fact that _something_ was still noticeably there that made Harry want to run amok through the streets.

_SHIT! This wasn't supposed to happen! Fate was not—emphasis on the 'not'—supposed to give me, Harry Potter, breasts! I am not supposed to be a sniveling little girl, with boobs! What am I going to be called by the Death Eaters now? __'Harry Potter, the Boy(?)-Who-Lived, with BOOBS!'? __What are they supposed to call me, anyways?_

Looking up at the shop window once again in horror, Harry's eyes widened a fraction more as he, or now she, saw Fate behind her within the reflection—which really looked plenty awkward as Harry had latched pale hands onto the unbelievable breasts.

It seemed to almost smirk at Harry, definitely pleased with its handiwork.

"Wha—? Wh—? W-what the FUCK?"

"I take it that you aren't pleased. How curious…"

Huffing in exasperation as people once again nosily turned to look for the cause of commotion, Harry cast a quick '_Muffliato' _on the surrounding area.

"No fucking way could I be 'pleased'! You turned me into a _girl_, you fucking psycho!"

The pitch of Harry's voice escalated into a screech that made even herself shudder at the shrilling sound. While Harry didn't quite have the deepest voice as a male, she would have had to be deaf to not notice the blatant change in vocal range as the familiar husky tone slowly became a smooth alto and straight to a piercing soprano.

"There's no need to raise you're voice. It's not that different, Harry. I believe it's quite becoming on y—"

"Not that different? NOT THAT FUCKING DIFFERENT? What exactly are you smoking? I'm, a, fucking, GIRL! Why in the bloody hell would you do this to me?"

"It's quite distasteful seeing such crude language coming from such a pretty girl. I think that you're speech should—"

"Why?"

Harry didn't think that the high-pitched screech she was hysterically emitting could escalate any further, but clearly she was proven wrong when Fate's patronizing brush-offs made her voice raise another pitch or two.

Unfazed by the shrieks, Fate continued to feign ignorance with what seemed like a smirk curling upon its lips, "Well, a girl shouldn't act so—"

"STOP FUCKING PLAYING WITH ME!"

Fate's calm façade hadn't slipped but the odd little twinkle of mirth in its grey eyes gave the amusement away as Harry was slowly starting to crack emotionally.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. You had said 'Anything!' so enthusiastically that I just had to give you something that could mirror the force of your enthusiasm." The last bit was added gleefully as an afterthought, "I was also quite looking forward to your reaction, too."

Slightly affronted for a moment, Harry stared in disbelief at Fate's explanation, her face slowly reddening in anger as her green eyes glinted harder than ever.

"What the fuck is your problem? You did _this _to me because you wanted to see how I reacted?" She motioned to her body in disgust. "Well, guess what? That doesn't fucking cut it!"

In her frustration, Harry banged one of her palms against the window pane, quickly wincing as the stinging pain quickly spread through her much more delicate hands.

"Silly, child," Fate chastised as it witnessed her action, the corner of one lip tilting further upward. "Please don't ruin that hard work I've put into you. You're my favourite piece of work, and I don't like my toys broken."

Harry narrowed her green eyes at the possessive words Fate spoke with, a twinge of something squeezed her heart as she realized the truth in its words.

"I'm no one's toy! I only belong to myself," she hissed in rage, but even Harry herself could hear the small tremble of uncertainty. Attempting to smother it, she continued on more confidently with another push of ire, "Tell me why would you do this to me? What's the point of this crap?"

"You don't belong to anyone, do you? What about those little friends of yours? If you aren't mine, which you certainly are, you are theirs. How selfish of you to forget that, to say that you belong to yourself. Selfish, selfish, useless Harry," spoke Fate, its tone reprimanding as if it was speaking to a small child.

"Don't you _dare _speak of 'selfishness' to me, you _selfish_, fucking, bloody, bastard," spat Harry viciously, "How could you even say that when you did _this _to me just for the sake of your own amusement?"

"I'm hardly selfish. One is not Fate if they were. This shall teach you that next time, which I highly doubt will come about, you should choose your words more wisely. It is a lesson that benefits you more so than I,so in the end I am rather _selfless_, don't you agree?" The tone was still goading but unlike before it was slightly less eager to cut into Harry with the same callousness.

The loss of figurative claws was not missed by Harry, despite her anger which often hindered her ability to think clearly. Slightly suspicious, Harry observed the reflection and noticed the way Fate's eyes subtly glanced away from her for a brief moment, as if avoiding her.

"I don't need life lessons from _you. _What is the _real_ reason, Fate?"

Fate just chuckled lightly—it was a smooth trilling sound that was nowhere near as pleasant as it should've sounded, being completely dry and humourless instead.

"I'm impressed. I always am with you. Impressed, I mean. People don't really manage to ask me that after seeing themselves quite so, —different. But, you're right; there is another reason—well, other than for my own amusement, that is, which is plenty more important in my opinion...

Simply, the Other Powers do not agree with my decision of giving you another chance as Harry Potter. They're whispering about how it's _unfair_ and how someone like you shouldn't get to live life twice, someone with all that luck and fame in their previous life. Which I, personally, think is absurd seeing that they've apparently never realized all that 'unfairness' in life is _because _of them_. _But, of course, they didn't care when I mentioned such; really, why would they bother when you were just one Saviour of a measly little community in some random universe—who already happened to be dead?

Thing is though, Harry Potter, _I_ am obligated to care about every little person, as I am Fate; and luckily—or unluckily, depends on how you take it—enough for you, I particularly favour _you_."

Fate paused, just to smile prettily at Harry, who just frowned harder, before proceeding.

"But, the ever infamous _but_, blatant favouritism is openly frowned upon. Meaning that, to make it more 'fair', per se, for all those other little people, I had to give you a new life as someone new, someone who's _completely_ different. I decided to merely change you anatomically instead of mentally, because those don't quite turn out well, well, they haven't so far... In any case, good luck, my child. You shall need it. Immensely."

The image of Fate slowly faded into nothingness, its wry smirk being the last to go.

Spinning around, Harry found nothing but thin air; Fate had left her, rather selfishly, alone in a different time.

_You don't just leave someone alone after you dump a whole bunch of mumbo-jumbo Fate, Destiny and Time crap on them!_

Harry was once again alone.

The dreadful thought hit her like a jackhammer to her gut, making her feel like retching all over the cleanly paved streets of Diagon Alley.

It shouldn't have bothered her as she had been alone on many occasions, but the thought of being deserted somewhere unfamiliar again caused something inside to crack; maybe it was her will, or her heart, but it didn't matter because it hurt just the same.

Sighing willfully, Harry stepped on to the street and into the crowd with the thoughts of what had just become of her life dancing circles through her head.

_So, what the hell just happened? How the fuck am I a girl? Why am I so stupid? Is it fate that I'm always the one screwed over, then ran over, than diced up and boiled down? Oh, right, it was fucking Fate! Sonofabitch! Fuck! And how do I just become a GIRL?_

Attempting to process everything that just happened, Harry felt strangled from the weight of everything being on her shoulders once again.

The pleasant laughter and chattering began to sound overbearing and much too loud, creating an ache that formed in her head.

All thoughts strayed away from her mind as she felt tears gathering in her eyes and flowing freely down the unfamiliar porcelain cheeks.

_What's that buzzing sounds? I can't fucking think._

Harry's breath came out in strangled sobs that quickly became hyperventilation, and shudders shocked through her body from the very tips of her fingers to her toes.

The once slow pace became a fast sprint down Diagon Alley.

_Fuck this! Why am I always alone? What am I supposed to do? I'm so sad, but angry, but sad, but happy? —Why the fuck am I so emotional? Argh, stupid teenage female hormones! I fucking hate this!_

As Harry was busy wiping teary eyes, she shouldered and slammed into multiple people, inciting protests from dozens more.

Turning her head around to apologize to the many angered citizens, Harry ran hard into a tall man clad in lavish blue robes, causing her to topple backwards towards the ground.

Thankfully, before she could touch the hard stone street, a warm and slightly aged hand grabbed, gently yet firmly, onto Harry's arm.

Glancing up through dark eyelashes, Harry saw something, rather someone he hadn't quite wanted to see again.

Albus Dumbledore.

_Shit._

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle paced through a cold dusty room, fingering his ring.

A gold band with a square onyx lodged in the middle, his most recent addition to his collection of prizes.

Ever since he had been a child, Tom loved to take souvenirs from his victims, it was rather gratifying when he acquired yet another prize—an everlasting proof of his triumph.

This prize, however, was different from the rest; much more valuable and _much_ more magical.

Taken just two summers ago, it had been stolen from his savage uncle, the Gaunt; the one who was _supposed t_o be a descendant of Slytherin—shows how truly deceiving looks could be.

_While his blood deemed him a blue-blooded wizard, his was anything but what his blood denoted. That man was a disgrace I would've been glad to never have met, much less be related to. __Alas, at least the fucking disappointment served of some use at the end of the day. _

Maybe if Morfin Gaunt hadn't been so easily fooled by a wizard twice his junior, perhaps—just perhaps—Tom would have held just a scruple of pity for his primitive uncle as he desecrated his home and stolen from him. But when Morfin fell just as easily as the rest, Tom decidedly felt nothing; not disappointment, or pity, nor even a sliver of accomplishment as his spell hit its mark.

He should have known to expect nothing more from a backwoods, backwards, wizard like Morfin, even if the blood of Slytherin ran through the man's veins.

To exhibit his victory, Tom took the ring straight from Morfin's hand, showing the other man just how vulnerable he was.

Of all the things to take, Tom chosen the onyx ring as he had suspected that it was not just any family heirloom; as his _kin_, if it could be called such, both blatantly flaunted it, bragging about it's otherworldly powers, but with the same breath he had also seemed much _too_ protective of it for it to be just a priceless artifact.

He had suspected that it was something of great power, as the ring felt heavy of unreadable magic, but it was only until now that he had the time to inspect it much more carefully.

He had missed it last year as he was much too focused on the subject of Horcruxes and miscalculated the taxing effect it have to even create just one, let alone see the cryptic power that radiated strongly from the ring, but now that he was focused, Tom would stop at nothing to discover its source and purpose.

Tom turned it this way and that, memorizing its every curve and design, curiously inspecting the faint shape engraved into the black gem.

Raising his hand to the dim sunlight that flowed through the windows, he could see the faint shape of a triangle, a circle within and a line intersecting the circle down the middle.

_A symbol. A symbol I swear I've seen before, even in the passing... This—_

"Riddle? Are you there?"

An obnoxiously loud voice bellowed from outside his wooden door, matching the equally thunderous raps on the poor door.

He stopped his pacing for a moment and briefly glanced—very much irritated—to where the sound was emitted from, before decidedly to ignoring it and continuing to evenly pace back and forth.

"Hey! I know you're in there! Riddle!"

The door then flew open abrasively, revealing a grotesquely red-faced boy.

He was slightly on the pudgy side, had abnormally enormous shoulders and was clearly consisted of more brawn than brains. His nostrils were flared and the thick eyebrows above beady eyes were furrowed with outrage.

This boy was quite the opposite from the lean, strikingly handsome Tom—who looked rather impassive, and slightly disgusted, by the overdramatic entrance.

"Yes?" Tom quietly questioned, resentment pronounced clearly within the single syllable.

_These Muggles are getting more and more impertinent each time. It even deems itself worthy to be in my presence, the little filthy idiot._

"Riddle! How dare you filch my girl!"

"Excuse me?"

"Ya heard me, Riddle! And you _will_** pay**!"

"Really? Shall I? I wonder…" Tom replied languidly, "Well, it's not quite of great consequence to me, so how about you, let's see, _fuck off_?"

The foolish boy had decided to ignore the frosty tone and advanced closer to the leaner boy, attempting to daunt him with his larger form.

Tom narrowed his dark eyes a fraction at the audacity of the Muggle boy.

_They really are getting bold without me putting them in their place. Either that or they're just plain thick. _

"Was that too complicated for you to understand? I told you to get the fuck out of my room."

"Fuck you! Candice is not your play toy! You're just a disgustin' bastard, so fucking disgustin' that even your whore of a mother left you! I couldn't agree more with her; death really is the better option."

The stupid boy pulled back his meaty fist and threw it forward with all his might, looking forward into smashing off the unfazed look Tom had upon his face.

Tom's eyes flashed from its deep forest green into a bloody crimson for bare second, nonetheless a chilling second.

His lips curled at the ends with warped elation, a glimmer of his white teeth peeked out predatorily with anticipation.

The other boy had no idea that just one thought was all it was going to take.

_Crucio._

* * *

"Are you alright, m'dear?"

The sound of _his _voice, gentle and warm like a fire during a cold winter night, called out to Harry. It made a warm little feeling Harry couldn't help but want to stifle in her chest; there really was no way to hate the auburn haired wizard, no matter what he had done, to Harry's dismay.

_Even if I can't hate him, I still haven't forgiven him, _she settled as she looked up at the blurry image of her former Headmaster.

"I'm fine, Prof— I mean, sir..." Harry's voice wavered at the end, her nerves getting to her.

_Fuck, I slipped up. Maybe he didn't catch it? Hopefully?_

The little slip wasn't missed if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by.

_Crap._

"That's good," Dumbledore said, pausing just briefly to give Harry hope, which was then dampened at the next sentence, "May I inquire how you know that I am a professor?"

_What am I supposed to say? That I'm the 'Messiah' from the future? As if he would believe that. Well, distracting him might work..._

"I, I, I, um... Mother and Father s-spoke of you and t-told me…to f-find you. So, um—" Harry replied shakily as if tears were about to fall.

Like any Oscar winning actress, Harry let all the pent up hormones, sadness and anger inside go, and started to choke and sob, crying big fat—almost—crocidile tears that matched his previous lines.

As time passed on, the louder the sobs became and the more tears began to pour.

People stopped to stare at the wailing youth and Albus Dumbledore, some in awe, some in horror and all hoping for some drama and scandal.

"Oh dear, you are not alright at all. Would you like to come to the Leaky Cauldron for a warm butterbeer? It'll brighten your day and we could talk this situation over afterwards."

When Harry meekly nodded, Dumbledore smiled and led them to the Leaky Cauldron.

_Distraction? Success._

* * *

The boy screamed in agony as he writhed and cried on the floor, no actual sound projecting from his silenced voice box.

Thousands of needles were piercing his skin, tearing out his insides and eating him from the inside out.

There was a constantly ringing in his head that varied in sound, shrilly screams to deepened roars, making him want to pull his brains out.

He could feel the way his joints being broken then mended then broken once again.

He screamed and screamed and screamed.

It just wouldn't stop. Not the needles, not the ringing, not his bones and never the pain.

But when it did stop, he really wish it hadn't.

His nerves, though twitching, were slowly returning to their previous sensitivity, rendering him sentient to the agonizing aftershocks of the torture. He couldn't quite decide which felt worse, being ripped apart from the inside, or shredded slowly from the outside.

His assailant stood above him with a look of deceptive blankness, a calm expression that didn't quite match his dark green eyes—gleaming with satisfaction and hatred. He could have also sworn that those dark eyes had flashed a startling crimson a second ago, but he really was in no place to question it.

"Crucio," his assailant muttered once again as the aftershocks began to calm, speaking just loud enough to hear if you strained your ears.

He knew it was some sort of sorcery, some dark witchcraft, some sort of occultism, something that he could—

He didn't have much time to ponder as the agonizingly familiar pain tore through him.

* * *

Tom gazed down at the boy as he finally ended the second round of Cruciatus, smirking condescendingly as he spoke with a frighteningly pleasant tone.

"Why haven't you taken the go ahead and just die, yet? Didn't you think it's such a _great _idea before?_"_

The boy's lips opened and closed like a fish out of water, almost glad he couldn't speak as he surely would've acquiesced with whatever the other boy had wanted, the convincing tone Tom spoke with was a smooth as silk and stroked across him in ways it shouldn't.

"What was that?" Tom mockingly leant forward as if to listen more closely, "You need assistance? Well, well, well, I guess you're in luck then. To think I just _happened _to have some time to spare. What are the odds, right?"

The boy frantically shook his head, desperately wishing that he hadn't confronted Tom Riddle, who he had previously thought was some helpless pretty boy.

Who _evidently_ wasn't helpless at all.

"No? I guess you're right. Maybe you do have some sense in you. Though I highly doubt that," He paused in mock contemplation. "So, that means maybe I _should_ kill you, since without any sort of sense, you're useless anyways, aren't you?"

The boy on the ground paused in his violent writhing for a moment to grasp pleadingly at the hem of Tom's worn grey slacks, jerking it hard as he squinted up imploringly with tear-filled eyes.

Tom's own eyes widened a fraction at the contact, a flurry of wild emotions racing through the deepened green pools, but it all went unnoticed to the boy grasping at him from the floor.

"Don't touch me!" Tom snarled almost hysterically, quickly wrenching his pant leg out of the boys sweaty palms with a jerk."Don't you _ever_ bloody touch me, you fucking Muggle filth."

In a snap, Tom reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out his yew wand, flicking it at the boy while murmuring the spell beneath his breath.

He watched in twisted glee as the boy—who he didn't bother to learn the name of—began grasping at his right arm with his shaking left in silent desperation, features pulled into acute suffering as he attempted to shriek loud.

"Hurts doesn't it?" The boy nodded feverishly, "Of course it does, since that's the spell that slowly melts your bone away from its very marrow. And if you don't want me to melt off the rest of your limbs, don't even think about touching me, or even my _air_, with your worthless being. Understood?"

When the boy didn't respond, as he was busy howling silently and clutching his arm, he recieved to a sharp jab of magic at his ribs making him bob his head submissively in acquiescence.

"Good boy," he praised, almost lovingly but the cutting glint in his eyes said otherwise. "Now that's settled, I think we should contemplate on a way for you to die."

Tom sneered in amusement as the other boy continued to silently scream in pain, pleading for forgiveness that he was most likely would not receive.

"Merlin, you are overdramatizing everything by far. I haven't even done much to you. But, I could do more if you'd like? Get a real taste of pain, hm?"

The boy was blinked in horror as Tom twirled his pale wand between just as pale fingers.

"I think I'll do it real slow, let it play out as it will like you would've done with those meaty fists of yours. Hey, maybe you can even join that 'whore of a mother' of mine when you die. Wouldn't that just be _swell_?"

The boy shook his head frantically.

Tom grinned further.

"Don't go back on your word now, Muggle. I'm paying up right now. You said I would, didn't you? So, now, I am. Happy?"

The meaty boy continued shaking his head.

"Don't _lie,_" Tom's almost-friendly tone shifted to sub-zero in a blink, "I really hate liars, almost as much as I hate your kind. And seeing as you're both a liar and one of those..."

Crouching down, Tom used the tip of his wand to jab into the meaty boy's thick column of a throat, relishing in the way he squirmed about—much like how a worm squirms when it knows it has been hooked as bait.

"I think you've outlived your use," Tom flashed a toothy smile, letting the chilling darkened crimson spill back over his green eyes for a moment. He looked predatorial, as well as completely and utterly wicked, "I would really enjoy killing you, even at the cost of dirtying my magic to do so."

He dug the wand harder into the other boy's throat, almost obscuring the airway and causing the boy to silently spluttered.

"_But_, fortunately for you, I'll most likely be blamed if you wound up dead, which would take at least _some_ effort to clean up, and we all know that you are definitely _not_ worth the slightest bit of effort I'd have to use," Tom let out a short chuckle full of contempt, before continuing to speak down at the boy.

"You should consider this your lucky day. Really. Usually, filthy Muggles like you don't get to even _breathe _my air like you are now—though you're hardly breathing so I guess it doesn't really matter… Nevertheless, feel grateful that I'm letting this one go and, for the last time, _fuck_ _off_."

Slowly removing the pale wand from the boy's neck, Tom made to stand, before deciding otherwise and roughly thrusting the wand back in.

The meaty boy eyes dilated in fear, as he thought the tall, dark and incredibly volatile Tom had once again changed his mind about killing him.

Before he could restart his spluttering, Tom quickly jerked him forward by the collar of his worn shirt—he noticed the way Tom's face scrunched in disgust and how he was careful not to brush even a finger directly upon his skin.

"Oh, and I trust you'll keep this little conversation of ours between us, or else, well, you never know..." As he whispered into the other boy's ear almost sensually, Tom let the threat trail off suggestively, his own brand of dark promises lacing the words and marking them as his.

Heeding the words, the meaty boy jerked his head up and down quickly in concise nods; he didn't care for anything as long as the torture would just stop.

"Then it's settled," Tom declared, harshly relinquishing his grip on the boy's shirt as he all but shoved him to the ground.

Removing both the Silencing Charm and the lingering Curses upon the boy, Tom turned away and started to pace once again as if the events that just preceded that moment never happened.

Within the next second, the boy was already up and slamming open the door to flee.

Stopping in mid-pace, Tom glanced at the boy through the open door; he was already at the end of the dim hallway heading towards the stairwell.

"Oh right, I forgot to warn you," he whispered quietly towards the boy's turned back, fingers snapping wandless magic to life.

A pair of invisible hands.

A sickening crunch of bones.

A howling echo of despair.

A picturesque boy with coldly glinting eyes.

Red, red, eyes.

"Watch your step."

* * *

Harry sat quietly on a worn, but warm, leather chair in front of a blazing fire. As she sipped her warm butterbeer in silence, she thought of her back-story and of some plausible excuses.

Dumbledore just sat there, equally silent, in his own chair. He was waiting patiently for her to be ready.

So she began spinning her tale.

"M-my name is, um, Lily. Lilith Jamie P— Evans, yes, and I'm seventeen. And _it_ had happened not so long ago, a month or two before. _He _had come. _He _had came and destroyed—"

"Who came Miss Evans?" Dumbledore questioned softly, ignoring the fact that this girl had blatantly lied to his face.

"The Dark Lord did," _Just not yours, yet,_ "He came and killed my family, taking away all that I've ever known."

Harry stopped to give a snivel and dry the salty liquid flowing down her face.

Deciding to mix in the Battle of Hogwarts and her parents' deaths into one white lie so there would be true emotion behind the story, Harry continued in a soft voice.

"I remember the very day, Grindelwald came through my door. Here's the thing, you see, my parents' and him had a bone to pick before, about what is unknown to m-me, so we lived in a house in Germany, concealed with the Fidelius Charm. The Secret-Keeper was a friend of my Father's, one of his best mates really, and h-h-he had t-told! The stupid _fucking_ traitor had sold my parent's out, and for what? Power? Glory? I wouldn't fucking know...

"Anyways, Father tried to h-hold him off, told Mom and I to go hide. But I couldn't, I-I _wouldn't _abandon him, my own father. So no matter how hard Mom pulled, I just wouldn't go. I wouldn't even leave him after the K-Killing Curse hit him straight on. Couldn't even think for that moment, for that one minute. But it didn't even take a second for Grindelwald to fire another curse. Mom blocked me, protected me—"

With that, Harry broke of into sobs and remembered the little she did of when her parent's actually died. She remembered how Mom had pleaded, begged Voldemort.

_It was all for me, and I just had to fail!_

"Please continue, Miss Evans," Dumbledore requested gently, with hard blue eyes rather than the twinkling ones from before.

"Sorry. Right, so Mom had cast something to p-protect me, Old Magic, I think. I was transported out of my house; I can't quite remember much, just a bright light, which brought me to the Mitte district in Berlin," _Thank you, Hermione for the detailed geographical rants,_ "There, I smuggled myself onto a Muggle train headed towards England, where my parents were born. They often spoke fondly of it, and also about a wizard, you, who was to defeat Grindelwald, and that's why I know your name. Plus, if you h-hadn't noticed, you're in plenty of p-papers, too. I just had to meet w-with you."

Dumbledore peered over the half-moon glasses of his and smiled sympathetically when saw some truth to Harry's story.

_What an interesting child. A magnificent actress indeed, but she seems to mean no harm as of yet. But I do wonder what the actual truth is..._

"Well, m'dear, I am unsure of what exactly to do as of now, but you are welcome to come and attend Hogwarts as a seventh year, where I am the Deputy Headmaster, for your own temporary safety. Though if the thought doesn't settle too well with you, you are indeed of legal age and files could always be drawn for you to be emancipa—"

"NO!" Harry quickly burst out, before clearly her throat, "I mean, I think I would like to attend this Hogwarts. I've never had the chance to attend an actual school before and would really enjoy being around people my own age for once."

Dumbledore eyes glinted briefly with something akin to doubt, "Well, I wouldn't want to deny you since you so insist. I think I could arrange something suitable with the current Headmaster."

"Really?"

Seeing the girl's authentic excitement, Dumbledore blue eyes twinkled just a bit as he nodded his head.

Harry's face split into a grin, beaming brightly at Dumbledore.

_Score!_

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you _so_ much, Professor Dumbledore. I just can't thank you enough. You are as righteous and kind as they all say."

_Yes, quite kind, even if you use that mask of kindness as both your shield and weapon._

Albus Dumbledore just chuckled genially, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You flatter me, m'dear. It is of no consequence. I'm just glad to help."

"Yes, I don't doubt it," Harry said a bit sardonically, hoping that it wasn't too obvious that she didn't believe the old man one bit.

Dumbledore indeed had caught the little jibe but didn't respond to her snarky comment, only continuing to peer curiously at the girl.

"Then, m'dear, I believe that our business has come to a conclusion. I shall take my leave now if there isn't anything let to discuss."

"Alright, sir. I think that's all," Harry said, pausing in contemplation, "Yes, that's all... Actually, no, wait!"

Pausing halfway risen from the chair, Dumbledore raised his brows and plopped back down, looking expectedly towards Harry.

"I, um, there's just a _tiny_ problem with all this. Seeing that even _if_ I am allowed to attend, I have no supplies, no books, no money for any of it and I'm basically homeless—no, I _am _homeless!" Harry bit out, slightly mortified by the pleading note in her tone and even more so at the fact of _who_ exactly she was pleading with.

"Oh, that slipped my mind, but I believe that does pose quite a problem. Troubling, indeed..." Dumbledore stroked at his auburn beard, "Hmm... Well, how about this? You could stay here until we find something better, and I shall place some standard protective wards around the surrounding area for your safety."

"Um, sir, you see, I can't exactly afford to—"

"Don't worry about the costs, m'dear, I'm not so heartless that I'd con a distraught young lady. I will personally pay for any of your needs as you are now under my guidance, so fret not about it."

_And we can see how that guidance of yours worked out now, can't we? _

The thought was biting and incredibly bitter, but Harry kept it to herself while maintaining her front of pseudo niceties.

"Thank you so very much, sir! Oh, and once last thing before you leave, sir?" said Harry, upping the watts in her smile by a substantial amount.

Dumbledore had already gotten up and headed for the door when the question stopped him in his tracks.

"Yes?"

"What day is it today? I have lost track of time with all that's going on."

"August the 11th, 1944," he briefly noted the way the girl's face fell, "Oh, and I shall contact you in a day or so. Farewell, Miss Evans."

With a swirl of obnoxiously coloured robes that would've made Snape proud, Albus Dumbledore took his leave, letting the the door swing shut with a small _clack_.

After making sure Dumbledore had truly left, Harry sunk further into her seat and thought of Ginny—the girl she had once cared for when she had been a silly teenage boy.

_She would've been fifteen today—well, in fifty or so years but it is besides the point—if she hadn't __died in some hate-drive war__._

Closing her eyes dejectedly, Harry reluctantly remembered once again.

_—the once beautiful Ginny, so full of life, now dismembered like a broken porcelain doll. Her head sat there staring, as blood dripped from her eyes, nose and ears—_

She didn't bother to stifle the memory and block away the pain; it would do her good to remember, to have the pain cut deep scars into her conscience. To have a reminder of her goals, and to remember not to fail, as before.

The stabs upon her conscience slowly numbed her body, lulling Harry into giving in to the somnolent pressure upon her that she didn't bother to resist. It wasn't that surprising as it had been at least three days since she last slept, and even then it hadn't been long.

So, Harry let it take her away. Let it drag her into the heavy temptations of the night. Let it unleash the unbridled emotions loss, anger, and overwhelming despair she had kept strapped behind everything else within her mind.

And in return, it ruthlessly constrained her within the complicated maze of horrors that resided in every nook and cranny of her subconscious.

She shook and sobbed the whole night.

* * *

**Read&Review. I'll love you forever.**

**A/N: I changed Harry's name from Lilith back to Harry because I think that he/she'd always think of herself as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Or something.**


	3. Chapter 2

**_This story is Non-Deathly Hallows Compliant and Contains the Female Harry, also contains mature content and/or language. Viewer discretion is advised._**

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for those you do not recognize from the Harry Potter series. The plot is all my own creation.

**A/N: Originally, I had said Lillith/Harry was going into her sixth year but it will actually be her seventh, to clear up any misconceptions.**

**REWRITE :D**

The End

**Second Chapter**

**_September 1st, 1944  
Leaky Cauldron, 2nd Flr. Room 7_**

Lillith Jamie Evans, formerly known as Harry James Potter, had been sitting in her bed since the crack of dawn.

Awoken by fits of nightmares, like every other night, Lillith once again decided to stay awake and away from the plague of dreams.

Sadly, even awake she could still remember the vividly graphic murders of all her friends.

_The Weasley family, all red-headed, were thrown to one side, ripped apart. You couldn't tell which body was whose._

_Gryffindor scarlet; said to represent bravery._

_Scarlet blood. Scarlet hair. Scarlet all around, a permanent stain of it on once polished floors._

Lillith once again felt the hateful drops of salty liquid drip down from her green eyes.

_Fuck! Am I crying again? Oh god, I crying again. Wow. Why am I crying again? All I do now is cry... I feel so fucking useless._

Peeling back the blankets and wiping off her eyes, Lillith climbed out of the bed, welcoming the frigid air into her warmth.

A cold rush of air hitting her legs caused her to lightly shiver, causing goose flesh to rise across pale skin.

As she undid the _Silencio _Charm she had cast upon herself, to stop screaming from escaping her room, Lillith wandered over to the warmly lit fire and sat down on the leather armchair.

Glancing out the window, she could see the bright sun, shining a heart-warming gold, slowly rising in and lightening the sky.

_Today is the day. The day I will go to the place I love most. Hogwarts._

Lillith let a small grin reach her face, remembering how much she loved the school of magic. How excitement always consumed her on this day. How she loved the school more than anything.

Swiftly rising up from the chair with a new spurt of energy, Lillith went excitedly to her trunk.

Piles after piles of clothing came flying out of the trunk, Lillith herself being too immersed in finding what she wanted to notice the small, but growing, mountain of cloth forming behind her.

The previous week, Dumbledore and her had gone to Diagon Alley to fetch all her supplies and other necessities.

He had insisted that they buy everything, and when he said 'everything', Dumbledore really meant it.

By the end of the rather long day, Lillith had acquired a wide range of stuff, ranging from the almost overflowing wardrobe, equipped with both Muggle and Wizarding attire, to a large collection of schoolbooks and supplies, to the odd little package that Dumbledore had quickly dismissed as "tampons".

_Wonder what those are for... Dumbledore just skittered around my subtle inquiries, as per usual._

Picking out a pair of clean slate-coloured trousers (which were apparently "inappropriate for girls" and only bought because Lillith wouldn't leave the shop otherwise), as well as a simple short-sleeved green blouse, Lillith dressed in a record time.

Catching her reflection in the mirror as she hastily packed away her supplies and clothing that scattered around the room in disorder, she once again marveled at the absence of the round-lensed glasses.

_My transformation had tampered with my eyes, so no more glasses, but they were broken anyways so it's all good._

After all that time wearing them, Lillith was so accustomed to seeing her green eyes being hidden behind thick frames, so it never once stopping her fascination at the way she no longer needed them at all to see a foot in front of her.

Another thing she couldn't stop becoming awed of was her own reflection.

Whenever Lillith caught even a glimpse of her face, her mouth seemed to automatically fall agape idiotically for a moment before she could regain her composure.

What wasn't there to look at?

Actually, other people would probably respond with disinterest and wonder what exactly _was_ there to look at.

Messy ebony hair. Pale skin. Skinny frame. Green eyes.

To anyone else, the reflection wouldn't be considered gorgeous or beautiful, but just the plain old pretty that everyone seems to overlook; though to Lillith and the Harry she used to be, it was something else.

Lillith found that what she saw wasn't much different from everyone else, that she was just pretty; but when looking closer, something about the air around the girl in the mirror made her so much more.

Wild dark hair, slightly messily waved here and there, almost curling at the ends. Alabaster skin that contrasted brightly against her hair. Fine fae-like features and willowy lithe frame. And those strikingly unique green eyes.

The girl in the mirror looked untamed and free, like a forest nymph with matching viridian eyes, making Lillith always turn back and wonder if it were really her that looked so unbound.

Looking at her new reflection always led a warmth bubble inside her merrily.

Grinning impishly, the Harry inside winked coquettishly at the petite girl with the lovely green eyes.

_Damn, I'm fineee._

As Lillith continued to pack, her true smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and begun beaming delightfully.

Wandlessly performing a simple levitation charm to lifting the packed trunk, Lillith swung open the door and all but skipped down the stairs, trunk magically trailing her.

The warm smell of firewood, sunshine and breakfast filled her nostrils, maintaining her silly grin just as it was.

"Good mornin', Ms. Lillith! What would ya like fo' breakfast?" Tom, the barman, amicably boomed from behind the bar.

He was still hunch-backed and bald, just the same as in the future.

_Back when I was Harry._

Waving away the stray thought that could've ruined a bright morning, Lillith beamed at the barman, brightly responding in kind.

"Morning! Could I just have orange juice and pancakes this morning? Oh, and some toast...make it _French_ toast...actually, scratch that, I want some cereal and yogurt with blueberries...and also some..." Lillith continued to list what she wanted for a few more minutes, "and also some omelette with cheese and bacon. —er, sorry, I was rambling, wasn't I? Just got to have a hearty breakfast for the first day at Hogwarts, you know?"

"Not a prob'! No siree! Couldn't refuse a pretty girl like you anyways, but it makes be wonder how you keep such a healthy little figure."

Lillith's smile faltered a bit, being reminded once again that he, _she_, was in fact a girl and not the _Boy_-Who-Lived, and not the Harry Potter that Hermione and Ron loved.

_Wait— I can't be thinking like this. I have to stop being such an angsty little emo child! I am here to save them, even at the cost of my life, not grovel about my problems. I am not supposed to be sulking in a corner, this isn't just about my emotional trauma and me, it's about us all. Those who are already dead and me!_

Smothering the sadness and unease thatwelled up in her stomach, Lillith decided to just laugh sheepishly and leave to sit at an empty table, letting her trunk to drop beside her chair.

Just as her meal (more like a buffet) arrived, Dumbledore walked into the Leaky Cauldron, letting a bit of cold autumn wind rush into the cozy confinements.

He spared a wary glance towards Lillith before smiled genially and taking a seat across from her.

"Quite an appetite you have this good morning!"

"Yes, it is, isn't it?"

_So it begins. Act One, Scene One. Action._

A fake smile so sweet that it made Lillith's insides churn a little became permanently plastered to her face.

_What does Dumbledore want with me today, and so early in the morning no less?_

"Well m'dear, I am here to inform you that you shall be going on the Hogwarts Express, on platform 9 and a half. Just so you are aware, the nosier ones will want the inside on your story, so we shall leave a bit earlier to find you an exclusive compartment." Still smiling genially.

_'Story' is it? I'll give you more than a story, a play even, where I write the lines and you are my puppet. Heh, you'll get a 'story" you'll never forget._

Laughing faintly, Lillith responded sweetly at the man who will manipulate and betray Harry Potter's trust in the future.

"That is very thoughtful of you, sir! I am grateful for all you are doing for me."

"No problem, no problem at all..." A glint of _something_ in the eyes, "Guess we shall be going now, after all you're done with your gourmet. I trust you are prepared already? Books, clothes, wand and necessities?"

"Yes, sir."

As they both stood, they both were smiling convincingly but an air of wariness floated around, stifling the air.

Coughing slightly to clear the tensed air, Dumbledore placed a hand on Lillith's trunk and arm, before leading her out the door and quickly disapparating.

_And, scene._

* * *

He hadn't slept the whole night; he had spent it by just sitting on the chair by the window and thinking.

_Why waste valuable time on sleep?_

He was already prepared for the first day back to Hogwarts, his seventh-year as a Slytherin.

_Regrettably, it's my last._

He had received a letter from the school proclaiming him to be Head Boy this year.

_No surprise there._

His followers are going to be at his feet groveling, more so this year then even after the Basilisk and the death of Myrtle, with that stunt he pulled last year.

_I deserve it, after I am who **I** am._

Tom already had many manipulations planned and ready.

_Unsurprising._

Brushing back his dark ebony locks with his slender hand, Tom Riddle smirked.

_I guess today will be at least tolerable._

Stretching out his long legs like the strong and silent predator he was_, _Tom rose to his full-length glory to walk over to his trunk beside his bed and wandlessly manipulating his trunk to float after him as he left the room.

_The Ministry of Magic is useless; such a weak Trace couldn't even try containing me. The death of my paternal family proves such. _

As he closed the door, a familiar meaty boy was coincidently walking down the hall towards him, looking entirely beaten, bruised, and broken.

_Hmm...what does he want again? Isn't the Cruciatus Curse once enough? Broken bones not quite a clear warning? It wouldn't be, now would it? That worthless Muggle filth…_

"_Yes_?" sneered Tom coldly.

"W-w-ell, I—"

"That's lovely," he dismissed, "too bad I don't have time to converse with the likes of you. That is, unless you are up for another round of _fun_?"

The boy visibly stiffened at Tom's tone, shuddering as it brought back memories of the last bout of "fun".

Tom's snort of amusement made the boy whip his beady eyes at him in alert, which caused him to gulp in fear at the sight of Tom's misleadingly kind smile which concealed his venomous intentions.

"Thought not. Actually, be of some use and carry my trunk down the stairs, will you?"

At that, he spun around without hearing the mumbled reply and descended the flight of stairs in long strides, the other boy trailing behind, scared and grasping the trunk with difficulty as he was quite injured.

The matron had already called a taxi, which was awaiting in front of the small orphanage, incredibly glad to be rid of the tall, dark and evil teen.

Mrs. Cole all but picked Tom up and threw him into the automobile, that is, saying that she was even _able_ to pick him up, but if she could, she definitely would have.

Tom opened the door and folded himself gracefully into the back seat, smirking as the car spluttered into a start and drove off.

* * *

The compartment was the last one on left, filled with only Lillith and her trunk above.

Dumbledore had made sure to get her on the train just a bit before the actual boarding time, meaning there was barely anyone aboard.

_He also strategically placed me in what seems like one at least, a less frequented compartment. Wonder what the old man is planning now…_

Getting up from the seat by the window, Lillith started to pace dutifully inside the compartment (which was becoming a rather new-found habit).

She was trying to shake of that gut-wrenching feeling she had, while being both racked with worries and being pressured to form diabolical,_ heh_, plans.

And then there's the fact that a teenage Dark Lord will be lurking around, probably looking forward to ruin her said plans.

_Riddle, Riddle, Riddle...what am I to do with him? If I kill him it would be too conspicuous right at this moment, and didn't Fate something about purpose and being stuck somewh—_

The compartment's door slid open with a quiet "_clack_", startling the pacing Lillith. She jumped lightly and swung towards the intruder with a deadly glare, but then froze; eyes widened in surprise and full lips parted dumbly.

There in the doorway stood _the _Tom Riddle; supreme arse-hole of the century, sadistic megalomaniac and future Dark Lord Voldemort, and there he stood with an almost hidden look of irritation in his dark green eyes.

_Green eyes like mine, _thought Lillith_, but so much darker and full of swelling contempt._

Observing the teenage homicidal maniac, Lillith recalled the same aristocratic features and manners as Harry Potter had seen in his second year in the Chamber of Secrets.

He could remember how the Horcrux had remarked about their similarities and whatnot.

At the time Harry almost inclined to agree, but now being this close, and without a deadly Basilisk right behind, Lillith noticed all their differences, with Harry and her compared to Tom Riddle.

Dark ebony locks that parted on the side, combed to perfection, much unlike her messy hair she shared with Harry.

His eyes, though green, were a dark green that could almost be mistaken for black, and when the light flickered over his dark eyes, she could have sworn to see a flash of crimson.

Lillith and Harry's eyes were more of light than dark.

Beneath a gray jumper and dark trousers, Riddle was clearly lean and tall, about 6 feet and lightly muscled, unlike Lillith, who even as a boy was thin, lithe and of much shorter stature.

Lillith observed as his lips, his full lips, moved, sounding out words silent to her ears.

_I wonder how many times they've already whispered out the Killing Curse…_

He repeated himself once again, but the sound just fell upon unhearing ears.

His dark eyes flashed.

* * *

Tom was getting frustrated with this girl in _his_ compartment. After explaining to her, rather politely in fact, that the compartment was only suitable enough for him, and _only_ him, the girl just stood there and looked back at him with dazed eyes.

_I am indeed physically attractive, but it doesn't often render others to mimic retardation. _

Once more explaining himself to the girl, making sure his smile was extra bright, his hand started to itch for his wand.

And once again, as he was ignored.

It was odd being ignored, it never really happened with him, but at the moment, he couldn't care less and decided to give into the desire of riping off the girl's head.

Grabbing his pale yew wand, he thrust forward pressing the girl to the cold glass window and his wand into her neck. All in less than a second.

"_Move._"

"Why?" The girl replied calmly, as if a wand was not jabbed into her jugular, as if this happened _frequently_.

Lifting aristocratic eyebrows for a moment before narrowing his eyes, Tom ground out four words that were laced with venom and the lust to kill. "Because_ I _said so_._"

"And I should listen because of what?"

Her eyes flashed with fury, chin lifted in defiance and glared into the taller boy's eyes.

He was aware that his eyes shone with slight curiousity over her rather volatile attitude.

"Well, for starters, my wand is pressed into your neck. As well as the fact that you seem to be new and would do well to listen to my authority. You wouldn't want to make an enemy of the Head Boy, now would you?"

"L-like bloody hell I care, you fucking arrogant prat!"

Her own wand was stabbing Tom's chest, a display of bold courage.

_And what a wonderful display of courage it is… How foolish._

Tom's lips quirked into a small malicious smile. Beneath the courage he had heard the soft twinge of fear, a waver in her lightly husky voice, the stutter of a scared girl.

Deciding to pick at the little crack in her brave façade, he whispered into her ear, almost seductively.

"Seems to me that you do, girl."

The girl responded as he hoped, spluttering and flailing, quick to get away from the taller teen.

His lips let the malicious smirk stay, lashing out his hand and grabbing hold of the girl's frail arm, pulling her almost flush against himself.

Lillith was seething beneath her pale flesh, her blood was boiling in anger, and she could practically feel the words of the Killing Curse upon her tongue.

**_Kill him, _**A voice resounded within her head; it was slightly deeper than her own and full of hatred.

_I can't do it. No, no, no. I'll get caught._

**_Do it. You can. Just say the words. Six life-changing syllables. Avada Keda—_**

_SHUT UP! Get the fuck out of my head! I can't kill him right now!_

A dark chuckle was heard, fading back into her mind before Lillith remembered her position, and decided to shove Tom Riddle off with such surprising strength that he hit the carpeted flooring.

Tom was, well, surprised upon the impact. He opened his lips, then shut them, deciding that he, astoundingly, had nothing threatening to say.

"S-s-sorry, I, I, I, um, overreacted... I g-guess I've spent too much time at war with— you know what? Nevermind."

Lillith quickly gathered her belongings and exited the compartment before she could further the reddening blush blooming on her cheeks or commit any unspeakable crimes towards the adolescent murderer.

Said adolescent murderer, just sat there, still rendered speechless.

* * *

Lillith had finally found an empty compartment on the other end of the train, much to her relief, as the rest of the train seemed to be occupied by obliviously happy students. The happiness sparked a jealous anger within her.

Lillith let her trunk magically float onto the ledge above the seats. The muffled sounds of giggles and laughter were heard just outside the compartment, the echoes of happiness spurring on the anger within Lillith's broken heart and unsound mind.

**_Happiness is overrated._**

_I was doomed the day Harry was born, never being allowed to let go like my friends. They could be children when I always had to be strong. So fucking strong all the time that I was to busy to truly find happiness._

**_Foolish Ron guffawed obnoxiously. _**

_Uptight and serious Hermione was never as mature as she thought, always pretending when she was also just a child._

**_Even useless Neville could smile in true happiness, so why the hell can't the Boy-Who-Lived?_**

_I am, was, and always shall be the Boy-Who-**Fucking**-Wouldn't-Die! I bet they're happy being took by Death, watching as I struggle as a person here._

**_Knew you'd give in._**

Breathing quickly, Lillith frowned, something was wrong. She had just suddenly bashed the people she loved dearly and those who died for her, the dark anger taking over, it's familiar voice encouraging all the wrath.

**_It felt good didn't it._**

Lillith gaped like a fish out of water for the second time today. It had responded.

**_"It"...How incredibly rude. I am you, well, I think I am. The "You" that hates everything, the pessimist, the dark, the angst. I hate Ron, Hermione, Gin-_**

_QUIET! _Lillith was livid, but also attempted to shut the aggravating anger away, trying to stuff it back down into the shadows before it could consume her.

_It's just the anger talking, it's not me, not me, not **me**!_

Suddenly, a cold hand lightly touched her shoulder, burning like ice through the grey cashmere jumper she previously threw on, jolting her from her seat, and her thoughts.

Glancing up, she hoped it wasn't a certain _someone_, and when it wasn't, she sighed in relief.

It was a boy around her age, who looked naturally regal and poised, making the slight alarm that showed on his attractive face rather misplaced.

Taking a closer look, she noticed that the boy resembled Sirius Black, or maybe the other way around, but still. They had the same dark wavy hair, worn slightly longer than most boys, and identical blue-grey eyes, eyes that showed cunning playfulness.

_Must be Padfoot's like relative or something..._

Though there was a remarkable resemblance, the teen was wearing something Sirius wouldn't be caught dead in.

A tailored, velvet, plum-coloured blazer with a gold-threaded lining and matching gold buttons.

The blazer was unbuttoned, revealing a matching deep purple waistcoat.

That was also unbuttoned, showing his crisp, white, and silky-looking dress shirt, the purple silk cravat secured neatly around the collar.

His black trousers were a bit tight, form-fitting like breeches but a slight looser, encasing his amazingly long legs.

All in all, he looked great, even Lillith thought so, but the thing is, he looked like someone who batted for the other team.

_Or maybe it's just the fashion here... Or not..._

"Hello? Are you alright, miss? You looked as if you were going into epileptic shock or something," the Sirius look-alike inquired curiously.

"What?"

"I mean, you're sweating, _ew_, like a pig and had a crazed looked to your eye, like you were a rabies-infected bitch." He scrunched his nose, in slight disgust at his own description before sneering.

Taken aback, Lillith wiped the cold sweat, that she hadn't even noticed gathering on her forehead, with the back of her hand.

Licking her equally cold lips, she narrowed her green eyes. "We're all so refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view. Fuck you, mate."

The boy raised his brows in shock before he, surprisingly, broke into a shit-eating grin, showing his straight white teeth.

"Great, so you aren't a meek little bitch! By the way, I'm Alphard Black, from the _Oldest and Purest House of Black_, though that pretty much sucks right now..." The announcement of his family was laced with rather dark and mocking malice, an 180 degree from the rest of the cheerful statement.

Lillith just stared, not knowing whether or not to trust the boy.

"Well, usually when someone introduces themselves, the other person responds with a name and not just sit here like a dumb and deaf mule." Alphard snarked lightly, with a rather playful tone compared to the ones before though.

"It's Lillith Evans, from the Your Mother's House, which wasn't so good, by the way. Oh, and tell her to wax more would you?" Lillith jeered playfully, "and just what is with your sick obsession with abused animals?"

Deep laughter rumbled from Alphard, "So you _are_ the reason Riddle has his knickers in a twist. Should have seen him after you left, cursing like he finally realized the stick shoved up his rear. It was just the hilarity!"

"I'm sure you'd rather have your stick up his arse, but I'm glad my near death experience is just sooo enjoyable." A bright smile now upon Lillith's face.

"Come now, you can't believe that angsty little teen could be that scary? I, for one, think he's totally shaggable, if he didn't open his mouth. Actually, most girls, faggots, and even some straight guys, would be swooning by now."

"Me? No way. He seemed to be, no, not "seemed", he _is _a huge dick."

"That's sounded quite dirty. And, that's what you say now, but just you wait for the charm to turn on."

Both looked at each other silently for a minute, then burst into laughter.

"Ahahaha, —yeah, hahaha, —right, hah!"

"I can, bwahaha, —think, heh, —of another thing that, pfft, —could turn on! Hahaha!"

"AHAHA... Wait, um, I don't get, oh, OH, —EWW! Hahaha!"

Alphard and Lillith couldn't stop laughing, not because any of it was truly _that_ funny, but because there was just something there, something amiable, that sparked the fit of giggles during the exact moment between the two.

_Just thinking of the teen Voldie with a __boner __and__ hormones __was just so weird, and funny... and too normal, _Lillith thought while figurative bile rose up in her throat as her imagination went a bit far.

To Lillith, Tom Riddle wouldn't ever be a normal pubescent teen, she couldn't bring herself to even pretend such.

Actually, Lillith had thought that Tom Riddle was someone who never bothered eating, or sleeping, or dreaming, let alone having hard-ons.

_After all, he is __inhuman enough to not need anything and still live._

After about five minutes of non-stop laughter, the pair finally quieted into an awkward silence.

Lillith, who noticed she was still standing, decided to sit, leaving Alphard standing there silently.

After a moment, Alphard smirked and suavely said, "So is the seat beside you taken?"

"Yes, but this one will be too if you sit down," Lillith remarked with a serious expression, before her lips turned up into a grin, "Joking! Sit if you want. So, mates?"

"Mates? Your weird, I like it, so sure!" _She is quite the character, Riddle's new target... Looks like Tom Riddle is in for quite a year._

Lillith's coughed awkwardly, her cheeks warming a bit. _I forgot I was a girl..._

Sitting down across from Lillith, Alphard drew his wand and muttered a spell under his breath, letting the door open and all his belongings to file neatly in. It was literally _ALL _his belongings.

"Did you bring your whole freaking house or somethin'?"

"Actually, basically."

Lillith crooked an eyebrow. "Why...?"

"Well, because I'm gay."

Lillith just stared, conveying with her eyes that she already knew that. "And I'm a pansexual. So?"

"Pansexual? Never heard that one before... Wasn't it something 'bout gender-preference free? Peculiar..." Alphard pondered a bit on the word and how it wasn't often used, before returning to his original topic with an mocking tone, "Well anyways, not _specifically_ 'cause I'm gay, but it's more so the fact I'm _openly_ gay that my family decided to disown me. Unofficially, of course. Since the Black Family has reputations to uphold and shit... Still, though I haven't been blasted off the Black Family tree, I'm only a Black by name. Which means since it's my seventh year, I'm legally an adult and am not to be supported by my family funds any longer. Long story short, I'm basically homeless."

"Fuck."

"Mhm," Alphard noncommittally replied, with his cheekily wry grin still fixed in place.

"What about your parents?"

At the question, Lillith's face fell considerably, muttering her answer with not much vigor.

"Murdered."

"Fuck." Alphard moved beside Lillith, a bit awkwardly, before placing his large hand on her head, comfortingly.

"Yeah."

A sad smile graced Lillith's features, not letting a single tear stray from her watery eyes. The silence comforted her, as her new friend, who was very much reminiscent to Sirius, patted her dark hair softly.

* * *

The last compartment on the left, was a place less frequented by students. It's air was dark and stifling, full of uncontrolled dark magic. The compartment was haunted people said, and it was, but the haunt was no ghost, in fact, it was quite worse.

It was the handsome and polite Tom Riddle, who everyone secretly knew was full of darkness, whether they acknowledged it or not.

At Hogwarts, Tom Riddle was the law, the power, the pride. Everyone knew, even first-years, and those who didn't were uninformed Mudbloods. Well, most still knew anyways.

_So why didn't that girl?_

Tom sat in the familiar leather seat, his designated spot, dressed in the Hogwarts robes and looking out the window to the blurred images of passing fields, thinking of the unknown girl who tainted his compartment.

Frowning as he remembered her fragile form, her long wild hair, her small ordinarily pretty face and her frail hand clutching her wand.

_There wasn't much special about her. Mediocrely pretty at best. Her skin too pale, rather lacklustre from either malnutrition or stress. Her hair was a mess, probably decided to snap her brush at any attempts to comb it. Her lips were full, but a bit too pouty on the bottom. Sure, her eyes were a enthralling mixture of greens, uniquely different and striking, but that was the only remarkable thing about her..._

Tom continued to list the girl's faults in his head, but the fact remained that no matter how many faults the girl had, she was not intimidated. Maybe she was a bit scared for a moment, but she definitely didn't feel that he was superior.

_This just won't do._

Also that inferiorgirl, had threatened him, Lord Voldemort.

_And I couldn't say anything...like I was threatened..._

While _her_ wand had threatened him, he was _supposed_ to be the threat.

_It's not supposed to be like this._

The fact spurred more anger from Tom, who quickly stifled it.

_She's not worth any anger, or any emotions for that matter._

But what Tom remembered most was her magic. It was unmistakably light but had a quality of darkness to it as it had crackled around the room. Especially in the moment before she had pushed all her magic into her strength. It's dark nature behind the light had been so alluring almost tempting him to draw it in; the way the light created the shadow, an innocent yet deadly illusion.

_Who was that girl? What a curious, curious puzzle...This year shall be interesting, to say the least..._

Ruffling his perfect hair, which just ironically returned to perfection, Tom turned length-wise and swung up his long legs up on the seat, smirking.

_Revenge shall be sweet. I shall make it so._

After a few minutes of lounging about, he felt the train jerk to a stop, they had arrived.

Smirking inwardly, Tom gracefully unfolded from the seat, letting himself out of the compartment.

A stray thought lingered in his mind as the door clacked shut.

_I wonder how Alphard is doing..._

* * *

**Revised: May 18th, 2011**

**Sorry for neglecting to update, to anyone or anything that Favourited, Reviewed or put this story on Story Alerts.**

**I still love you guys so much though :)**

**I'm just attempting to balance out all my AP classes at the moment and earn passable grades, which seems to be incredibly time consuming.**

**But that's probably because I do my work all at the exact same time, —coincidently always being the last moment...**

**Well, anyways, I'm trying to revise everything at the moment, and there will probably (most likely) be a Chapter 4 by next Monday, May 23, 2011.**

**READ&REVIEW :D**

**Flame me if you want, but I'll just laugh.**


	4. Chapter 3

_**This story is Non-Deathly Hallows Compliant and Contains the Female Harry, also contains mature content and/or language. Viewer discretion is advised.  
**_

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue :)

**Also to clear confusion, both Tom and Lillith/Harry are in seventh year and are both sixteen; for different reasons, of course. Tom is sixteen because his birthdate is in December and Lillith had just turned sixteen but is not allowed to stay at Hogwarts for long, since Dumbledore is wary of her.**

**REVISED ! :D**

The End

**Third Chapter  
**

Lillith couldn't believe she was standing here again, outside the doors of the Great Hall, at Hogwarts. It was both amazing and disheartening,

The Great Hall of Hogwarts carried many of Harry's greatest memories engraved deep into its foundation, but also carried those that haunted her sleep.

Lillith internally shuddered at the thought of the mutilated bodies of her friends and allies strewn across the marbled flooring, the dark-robed Death Eaters, and their bright killing curses.

There's also the fact that the last time she had been here had been for her own untimely funeral.

Nevertheless, both emotions of contradiction made her feel the same, incredibly anxious.

It was like she was back in first-year again, a nervous and impatient wreck anticipating an eventful school life.

Who will she become friends with? What will she do if she's in Slytherin? Will she be liked? Disliked?

_Maybe the questions of, 'How to stop the adolescent Dark Lord's rising?' or even, 'Will I end up dead before dawn?' are much more important._

The air felt warmer than it actually was, making cool sweat lightly trickling down from her pale white neck and to her spine from down her collar.

She was waiting outside the Great Hall for her name to be announced, along with a bunch of other unimportant ramble about the ongoing war and her "calamitously unpropitious" past, which was Headmaster Dippet's way of saying, "Yeah, she's fucked over."

Lillith felt a bit anxiety simmer away at the thought of the nearly balding old fool, who thought nearly too high of himself.

Her meeting with Dippet had been rather brief and immensely annoying, as the man thought the himself to be the most accomplished wizard to set foot on the planet, that and the fact that he was all _but_ in love with Tom Riddle.

___Frankly, it's unsurprising he didn't notice anything amiss with teen Voldie. Brings a new meaning to the term 'old coot'. Really._

Thinking back upon it, Lillith let a soft chuckle escape her tensed body and letting it echo down the empty corridors.

•••••••

_After both Alphard and Lillith decided to change into their Hogwarts robes; robes that contained a uniform that had Lillith feeling incredibly uncomfortable exposed to the world. _

_Lillith wondered what self-respecting wizard would ever wear a girl's clothing, before turning towards the task at hand_

_The uniform was quite different for girls compared to the boys. It consisted of the regulation white button-down, grey jumper, blank tie and blazer which would later be emblazoned with a Hogwart's House, but neither Lillith nor Harry have ever worn a skirt or seen a 'pinafore apron' before. _

_At the sight of the apron, she immediately decided against even a single attempt to tie it on, tossing it aside carelessly before turning her attention on the dark pleated skirt. __Lillith had thought they would be simple to wear, but wow, looks were definitely decieving. _

_In the end, Lillith managed to set the poor pinafore apron on fire, effectively destroying it and the blasted skirt lay innocently crumpled on the ground. Grumbling in anger and exasperation, Lillith decided to__ messily shove the skirt on without care and sat pouting on her seat. _

_When Alphard had returned, the first thing he did was burst into laughter, which further irritated a glowering Lillith who knew indeed how messily dressed she was but still had her pride._

_The boy opposite to her stopped his laughter only to inform her that the skirt was backwards, causing her to switch it around untidily and glare with vexation._

_Deciding that she didn't quite care how she looked anymore, Lillith batted away Alphard's attempts to help with a sour look on her face._

_The rest of the ride was sat in silence on Lillith's part, while Alphard chuckled occasionally, much to her immensely growing irritation._

_As the train jerked to a stop, Lillith could see Dumbledore waiting for her at the platform, eyes twinkling merrily. Students who were already on the platform were staring rather indiscreetly at the odd professor, including Tom Riddle (who was ordering his cronies and younger students around, as Lillith noticed.)_

_Lillith automatically started scowling at the attention as the professor approached her when she got off of the train, smiling genially. Alphard muttered a quick farewell, trunk trailing after him as he left swiftly to catch an empty carriage, seemingly avoiding any all contact with the professor._

_Gaping at Alphard's back, Lillith felt a tinge of betrayal at being abandoned with the overly-friendly Headmaster. _

_'Come, Ms. Evans, you have to meet the Headmaster.' He offered a hand, which Lillith purposefully ignored, brushing by with a cold smile._

_He chuckled as if it was a joke, vanishing her abandoned trunk to the castle, and then proceeded board onto the carriage._

_The ride was rode in silence._

_When they had arrived, Lillith was immediately lead to the Headmaster's office, the current Headmaster Armando Dippet that is._

_Upon entering, Lillith saw a short man with nearly no hair on his head, but a rather full beard, dressed in crisp navy robes and wore a rather haughty expression. His wrinkled meaty hands held a snotty looking handkerchief, which he decided to constantly snivel into._

_'Armando,' Dumbledore greeted with his customary smile with an inclination of his head._

_Dippet pointedly turned away from the professor after a muttered reply, zeroing in on the Lillith with his beady eyes, that seemed to size her up and disapprove greatly._

_'You must be that girl Albus spoke of. I have heard of your quite __calamitously unpropitious situation. It really is __calamitously unpropitious, the passing of your originators; your mother and father that is. Condolences, really. I must speculate that the occurrences with Grindelwald and Germany are entirely __calamitously unpropitious...' Dippet blew his nose loudly before continuing in his pompous tone._

_______ 'Nevertheless, even with these __calamitously unpropitious consequences from whatever actions your parents have done, I aspire you shall cinch right into Hogwarts. I haven't seen your O.W.L.s, which is quite __calamitously unpropitious, so I aspire that you keep up your work, as Hogwarts isn't as simple as whatever war-zone you hail from. I would also do you some good to act more proper, like a real lady, if you may. I surmise that it shall do you some good, Ms. Pevens—"_

___________'It's Evans, actually,' interrupted Lillith, with just a touch of anger at the Headmaster's remarks._

___________Waving her off with a dismissive hand, Dippet continued, 'As I said, Ms. Avon, you should learn to be more refined and not so under-bred. Speak when spoken to. In fact, you should act more like our Head Boy, Tom Riddle, who I'm sure you'll be hearing of very soon. He is one of the most, if not the most, talented wizards of his generation. He scored all O.W.L.s in his previous years, and I shall aspire that he will continue to do as marvellous on his N.E.W.T.s. It also doesn't hurt that boy is rather handsome as well, oh, and modest too. Mr. Riddle is quite the young gentleman, the image of a well-bred wizard, barring the fact that he came from an orphanage, but that shouldn't matter much in young Riddle's case. Oh, Tom Riddle is really the most—'_

_'Armando,' Dumbledore interrupted this time, much to Lillith's relief, with a rather admonishing tone, 'as I'm certain Tom would be grateful for such praise, why don't we save it for when he is present?'_

_Lillith almost chuckled at the Headmaster's scowl as he snivelled into his hankie before turning on Dumbledore._

_'Really, Albus. It's Headmaster Dippet.' The tone was incredibly supercilious._

_'As you wish, Armando. As you wish.'_

_•••••••_

Dippet really thought himself as some genius, looking down on everything and everyone, but for the better part of the conversation, Lillith could barely make out his words from beneath the sound of his sneezing..

_Too bad when he attempted to be all intimidating and haughty, he snots all over the place. At least Dumbledore had been way more clever and powerful, which seems to be a downside when he's a meddlesome manipulator._

Lillith let herself glower at her own thoughts for a moment when she heard Dippet's arrogant voice carry into the corridor from the Great Hall.

___________"—_and now, I presentate, a survivor of the war and our newly transferred seventh-year, Lillith Evans. A round of applaud, please.

Hearing her name, Lillith stepped into the light of the enchanted Great Hall. Quiet applaud sounded.

Her booted feet pattered quickly against the marble tiles echoing rather loudly and matching the rapid beating of her heart.

Eyes burnt curiously at her, she noticed, especially one pair of dark green ones.

* * *

Tom was seated at the head of the Slytherin table, watching the new girl, Evans they said, enter with nervousness showing deep in her light eyes, but wearing her face emotionless beneath messy hair.

_She looks as if she was dressed in the dark, _Tom thought, sneering as he noticed her messy uniform.

Her blank tie loosely at the collar of her wrinkled shirt, which was tucked halfway in and buttoned improperly as it peeked from beneath her wrinkled jumper, that of which the sleeves were shoved to her elbows carelessly. Her skirt was also very much rumpled, bunched beneath her jumped and pulled unintentionally past what would be considered appropriate for girls in this day and age.

_Looks as if she just had fornicated directly outside of the Hall like some common whore... Disgusting.  
_

Everyone was staring at her with blatant curiosity, having only heard that she was a war refuge, but Tom wasn't expecting the girl to look, no, glare directly at him.

Her lighter green eyes stared cuttingly back at him, nothing like the looks of admiration from other girls, but a stare to challenge him and his authority.

Acknowledging the look, Tom simply smiled innocently in reply and raised a pale hand to salute her.

In a flash of black hair, her head was turned away, a deep frown adorning her lips as she ascended the steps towards Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat.

_That's right, turn your head away. You aren't worthy to look at me._

Despite his thoughts on the girl, Tom's eyes were still, almost unwillingly, trained upon the dark haired girl, who had now been seated on the customary three-legged stool.

The Sorting Hat had a rather perplexed look on it's old wrinkled face after a moment of sitting on her head, as if contemplating something quite difficult.

_Of course. The Hat probably can't decide where to put that ignorant girl, not much of a surprise._

But after the course of fifteen minutes, Tom was quite surprised the Hat hadn't just dumped her off in Hufflepuff like the rest of them who weren't brave, cunning, or smart.

Even the light chattering of the room slowly died out as both student and teachers alike were slightly shocked that at the new girl was still seated on the stool, the Sorting Hat still contemplating.

Another minute after another passed. The air becoming a bit restless and filled with a mixture of impatience and anticipation.

Tom felt neither, but he was curious. So very, very curious.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Ti—

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Sorting Hat's bellow shocked plenty of the Hall's occupants.

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

The room was silent for a second, then the Slytherins' burst into a roar of cheering.

Other houses just stared with a mixed amount of emotions; the Gryffindors, distaste, the Hufflepuffs, apprehension, and the Ravenclaws, analyzing.

Lillith sat there for a moment, unsure if she was glad or not that the bloody Hat had delivered her into the lion's den, or rather the _snake's_ pit.

While this could have been advantageous if she hadn't lost it at the sight of Riddle on the train, it still got her the chance to reconcile differences with Riddle, though highly unlikely. It was probably also a plus that everyone tended to stay away from the Slytherins, and the said Slytherins most likely kept to themselves and minded their own business.

_On the other more morbid hand, this could give Riddle more chances to murder me in my sleep, then use my blood to paint a beautiful mural in the Great Hall._

Sighing, she got off the stool and walked toward the end of the Slytherin table, where a grinning Alphard sat.

The Great Hall burst into chatter, and not very subtle inquiries of what on earth had just occured. No one had ever seen the Hat spend that much time on anyone.

Dippet quickly got up before the noise escalated further and the students ignored him, taking all his self importance with him and coughing rather loud and pretentiously, announcing that the feast was to begin.

And so, the chattering resumed at twice the volume.

* * *

"I see that you became a Slytherin."Alphard was smirking, and Lillith heard the undertone. _I see that you are worthy of being sorted into Slytherin._

Sliding into the place beside Alphard, at the very end of the table, Lillith ignored him and rapidly dug into the food that appeared on her golden plate.

After finishing her meal, and part of Alphard's, in record time, Lillith finally spoke up. "Yes, I became a slimy, slithering, Slytherin snake. Glad you noticed, I wouldn't have known if didn't tell me."

Alphard smirked at her, "You'd be lost without me, wouldn't you?"

"Clearly," Lillith scoffed in reply, "You are the most insightful being to ever set foot in Hogwarts."

"Really? I knew that but wasn't sure that you did," retorted Alphard with his cheeky grin.

"You're stupid."

"I know you are but what am I?"

Lillith just rolled her eyes at Alphard's childish comeback.

Alphard, though, decided to think himself hilarious, tossing his wavy hair back and laughing aloud, really loud. Half of Slytherin turned to look spitefully at the offender, while the other half pretended he wasn't even in their House, namely those closer to the Head of the table.

"You need help. And shut the hell up, you're causing attention!" Lillith slapped a hand over Alphard's mouth, which he licked playfully.

"Ew! What the friggin' hell?"

Alphard just smirked in content, leaning on his hand which was propped up onto the table, facing Lillith with his gleeful expression.

Lillith gave a withering glare, then gave a snort when Alphard exaggeratedly mimicked her.

Sighing with exaggeration, Lillith was wiping her wet palm on Alphard's leg, earning a shock when another pale hand from across the table jutted in front of her face.

Looking up, Lillith saw a blonde girl with narrowed blue eyes and short, curled blonde hair, the fashion in the forties. She was very pretty, but had a permanent scowl engraved on her plump lips that diminished most of what was there.

_Seriously, who pissed in her cornflakes?_

"Um, Hi..." When Lillith grasped the delicate hand in her face, she was crushed with a surprising amount of strength coming from the delicate girl.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I'm Cassiopeia Caprario-Zabini, call me Cassia. Also, if you want to fit in at this house, I suggest you move yourself closer to the middle of the table. You don't belong _here._"

"Uh, what?" Her hand was squeezed harder by the opposing girl. _God, just let go! I'm gonna bruise and I bet this girl knows it. Bitch. _Glaring at the girl, when she had not relented the tight clutch, Lillith yanked her hand away with unexpected ease, which made her realize that she still the strength of her male body.

_Seems like I still have my old male strength. Maybe that's why I could push away Riddle on the train? But I'm sure that it isn't really much... I could probably pass as a strong girl, not even the strongest._

Alphard interjected, smiling nervously, trying cut the tension between the two girls. "Aheheh, umm... Let's not ruin a lovely dinner, Sisi, yeah?"

"Quiet, and don't call me that foul name," Cassia replied in irritation, before turning towards Lillith, "Let me explain how this works, _new girl_, Hogwarts has a hierarchy, as I'm sure you knew. It goes somewhat like this; Dumbledore, Headmaster, teachers than students. You'll see that Dumbledore is quite the manipulating Griffindork, the snake of a lion's den, which is namely why he's on top."

Alphard attempted to cut in again, but was silenced by a particularly scathing glare from Cassia.

"Anyways, that isn't the only hierarchy, every House has one. While I'm not sure you're incompetence can handle it all, I will still inform you of the structure. As I was saying, every House in Hogwarts has a hierarchy. Where the talented, beautiful and incredibly rich are on the top, the nobles that everyone respect, the ones that are near perfection, the ones of high influence, the most charismatic ones—"

"Yeah, yeah, every House has a hierarchy, and nobles are great, get the hell on with it." Lillith was not seeing the point to this, but saw that Alphard was reluctant to leave, a tinge of _something _in his grey orbs; love, or is it longing?

_Maybe neither..._

Rolling her blue eyes, Cassia sighed. "Well, if you insist," Lillith's face twitched, "as I was saying before an incredibly _rude_ interruption, the nobles sit at the Head of the tables, while the average ones; average looks, average talent, average everything, ew, sit in the middle. And us, those at the end, we're the outcasts, the ones that _they, _on the top, don't even want as slaves, we're equal to, it really disgusts me to say this but, we're basically equal to _Mudbloods._"

Lillith's eyes flashed angrily, biting out her next word, "Great to know that you can still judge when you're on the bottom, you bit—, nevermind. You aren't quite worth it."

Turning away from the not very happy Cassia and glancing around Alphard, Lillith noticed how it was exactly how Cassia said it, the Houses were split into three sections.

The Head was filled with mostly, excluding a few here and there, attractive individuals, which actually wasn't saying much since there weren't many "nobles" in the first place.

Lillith took into account that at the very head of Slytherin, sat a composed Tom Riddle, conversing, dare I say it, pleasantly, with another dim-witted member of his group. She could see his solid green eyes glance discreetly over a few times but that was all.

_Much better than open staring, though._

The middle wasn't really interesting, everything was just so, well to say the least, average.

"Well, Alphard, I'm guessing that our previous topic on the train is the King? Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?" Mocking laced every word.

Before Alphard could answer, Cassia leant forward to conspiratorially whisper an interruption, "Who? Tom Riddle? You know, he's the Head Boy this year, very talented and definitely fine. But he is rather mysterious and vague about his past and family though. I, personally, find it suspicious; he's probably not as great as everyone thinks. I think that he's a closet Mudbl—" Hate was flowing from her mouth, almost overflowing.

Lillith noticed she was leaning forward to hear more, sorely disappointed when Alphard cut in quickly.

"Calm it, Sisi, people have ears, fuck damnit."

Looking at Alphard, Cassia teared up, immediately turning to stare longingly at a tanned boy of Italian descent near the Head.

"You should hate them too, Alphard. After all, Tom Riddle did do what he did to y—"

"Shut up," Alphard said, his tone much darker and more scathing than of what Lillith has ever heard of it.

Cassia visibly stiffened, paling as tears trickled from her cornflower blue eyes as she proceeded to toss her short blonde hair and storm from the Hall, leaving Lillith and Alphard alone.

"Sorry about her, Lily. She wasn't always such a bitch..." His tone was back to it's usual playful drawl, nothing reminiscent of his previously threatening one.

Curiosity piqued in her, "What happened?"

"Nothing!" Alphard, who responded a bit too abruptly, corrected himself, "I meant nothing for _you_ to worry about, yeah?" Lillith read the line carefully, smiled understandingly, before starting a conversation on how girls should be able to wear trousers too.

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy, heir to the prestigious Malfoys, was staring at the new student of Slytherin, the pretty transfer from Germany. He had noticed he wasn't the only one too, almost all the nobles discreetly stared.

_How unsurprising of them, to measure up a new recruit. Is she pretty enough? Too pretty? Blood status? Bust size? How very shallow of them... And yet, I am one too, how unsurprising... _

What _did _surprise him, however, was that even _Tom Riddle_, their King, was staring, though much more discreetly than anyone else, as well.

It was a known fact that Tom Riddle never paid to girls, not that he didn't get the attention, _I mean, even a straight male would think he's delectable, _but he just simply seemed to have no real interest in any of them.

He was certain that, while Tom was rumoured to be asexual, he definitely did have casual sex for his own gains, though never did so because of any real interest other than that.

But this intriguing girl was drawing in Riddle's attention like bees to honey, and seeing his incensed stare, it could only prove to be quite disastrous for her if she didn't watch out.

You could see that the girl was pretty enough, rather fae-like with her petite figure, swirling grass green eyes, and dark ebony hair, but that wouldn't hold Riddle's attention for long.

_And if it's nothing that I haven't fucked before, then it's definitely nothing compared to some of Riddle's conquests or admirers._

Abraxas didn't really get it, and asking would have consequences, but curiousity got the better of him so he asked about the girl anyways.

"Hey, Riddle, you've noticed her haven't you, who's she?"

Conversations around them quieted, signalling the fact that everyone was listening in.

"The new girl, Lillith Evans, I think, and I'm sure everyone has noticed her after her big intro," Riddle replied calmly but you could hear a clear undertone of warning.

"Do _you_ know her?" Green eyes narrowed as the air clearly chilled, making Abraxas gulped, but still he chose to stand his ground.

"Yes, I met her on the train... We had quite the, _encounter, _if I may say so."

Abraxas was surprised that he even received a reply to the prying question and contemplated on it; he was certain that they didn't _just_ meet.

He opened his mouth once again to question Riddle, but at the pointed stare Riddle gave him, he was certain that he would be in for a round of _Crucios_ at the Knights next meeting, so he decided to not speak his thoughts.

The conversations around them slowly picked up it's previous pace and resumed their superficial topics once again, everything becoming stiffening pleasant as though not a word had been said.

Well, it that is until drunken Nott also decided to comment on the transfer, breaking the insipid peace.

"Quite a nice rack that one, eh?" commented Theodore Nott, slightly slurring words.

_I'm betting he isn't pouring himself innocent pumpkin juice. Heh, innocent Slytherins, what a joke..._

Nodding in agreement, Cygnus Black, leered at the said chest before examining her face. "Nice arse too, damn fine, yeah? Kind of pretty too; like the forest nymph my father captured last summer."

"Nymph? I don't see it. She's just, at most, _average._" Druella Rosier glared, flipping her long pale hair. She was angelic but the mask of make-up on her face reduced the beauty, rather than enhanced it.

"She's barely average, 'Ella. Simply look at her hair, if I could call that hair," Pug-faced Laurinda Parkinson said, scrunching up her up-turned nose and effectively deforming her face. She was somewhat _attractive_ in a cutesy pug-like way, with her face and all, but she was immensely nasty with her only redeeming quality being the fact that she had was the largest chest in the school.

"Really, Parkinson? Jealousy won't make anything prettier about you," Abraxas drawled lazily, swinging his arm around the girl and placing his large hand upon her chest like he usually did. Laurinda giggled, pushing forward into Abraxas' hand, which just lay there lack-lusterly and refused to respond.

_Slut. Sex with her isn't so interesting anymore...it's just the same old things...I need something new..._

Suddenly, "Check out that arse on her!" Conrad Avery all but shouted at Walden Macnair, who in turn guffawed loudly while nodding his head.

_Both of them aren't the most brightest of the bunch._

"Avery, we've already established the fact that she has a fine ass," Cygnus' tone was snarky and condescending, but still effectively shut the other boys up.

"So, Dante, what do you think?" Abraxas was interested in his quiet and stoic friend's thoughts, as they were usually much more informative and impertinent than the rest of his comrades.

Armano Zabini, but better known by his middle name, Dante, replied in his ever calm and steady voice, "She's quite, strange... —No, that isn't the word... Maybe, extrinsic?Yes, that's it. She's exotic."

"Extrinsic, eh?" Malfoy stared hard at the girl contemplating on what his friend had seen in her.

Looking harder than before, Malfoy noticed that even if the girl was only mediocrely pretty, but she still was indeed as Cygnus had described, much like nymph. Both her appearance, the waved dark hair and emerald eyes, and her magic, which he noticed almost glowed off of her, were wild and mystical, as if she was made of not skin and bones but pure magic; effectively drawing you in.

_Mmm. Exotic, it is._

Smirking at his own realization, Abraxas was tempted to stare at the girl for the rest of dinner, but could help but look away as a quarrel began quite enthusiastically beside him.

* * *

Walburga Black just sneered at the boys, who had spoken fondly about the new girl, intentionally whispering loudly to her cousin Lucretia, "Looks like a mix of bad blood to me."

Lucretia Black smirked, "Yes, of course, cousin. Bad blood, indeed. Don't you agree, Tom?"

Leaning across Malfoy, who was on the right of Tom, she smiled flirtatiously and fluttered her lashes.

Tom simply ignored the girl as if he hadn't heard a thing, turning away towards the silent Orion Black. "Your cousin, Alphard, was it? Yes, I believe so, it seems as if he is rather interested in the new girl."

"Well, yes, To—"

"That faggot is no family of ours, equal to a mudblood!" Walburga growled out spitefully from gritted teeth,"Right, Lucy? Cygnus?"

Lucretia nodded feverishly and Cygnus simply shrugged compliantly, not knowing how exactly to feel about his own older brother, but not stupid enough to voice any protests against his sister.

Orion glared coldly at both the black-haired beauties, Lucretia and Walburga, as he admonished them, "Faggot, Walburga? Cousin Alphard is no different from you, or Lucretia, in that aspect."

"Wh—" Walburga made to speak, but was immediately shot down by Orion Black's toneless, yet commanding, voice.

"Silence. You _do_ know what I'm on about, don't you?"

Face flushing a stark red that contrasted the paleness of her neck, Walburga's eyes strayed toward the rapidly paling Lucretia before turning around and screeching, "How dare you, Orion! You may be the Heir now that that, that _queer_ has left, but it doesn't mean a thing! I don't know what you speak of! And he is still a muggle-loving, dick-suck—"

"Listen, _cousin_," interrupted Orion, voice much more harsher, "I do not approve nor have taken a liking to Alphard and his choices, but he is still a Black; while I _loathe _you, but you are also still, rather disgracefully, a Black. I do not often speak ill of family in front of an audience, and neither should any of you." His dark grey eyes stared through his cousins and sister cooly, before continuing.

"Do not disgrace your own family with such light-heartedness, and do good to remember that blood, no matter how tainted, is _still_ thicker than water."

The way Orion's voice had deepened into a menacing tone, very much unlike his usual aloof one, prevented the furious Walburga from talking back. He was ice cold, and it felt as if just by that sentence, the table had dropped a degree or two.

"Pardon me," excused Orion, voice monotonous once again. He stood, nodded towards Tom then slouched out of the Great Hall with his long strides.

People immediately began whispering and gossiping about the spectacle that just happened; it wasn't every day that the usually silent and indolent Orion had succesfully rendered the loud-mouth and bitchy Walburga speechless.

_Heh. Got to give a hand to Orion for that, never thought she'd shut it. Wouldn't even shut up when on her knees... _thought Abraxas, as he smirked in slight satisfaction.

It was when Abraxas noticed that Tom was also smirking, an expression that made him look pleasantly sadistic, that he began to realize what had truly happened.

_He really enjoys tearing apart the Black family, doesn't he? Of course, he would, he enjoys tearing everything down before re-building it all with himself on top. First, Alphard. And now, this. He really is merciless, it's always a simple diversion of attention away from himself; it was done expertly back then, and not much different from now, really. —This new girl is a touchy issue... Interesting, but yet, still so incredibly dangerous for me if something decides to fall apart._

Sighing at the foreshadowing of complications in the future, the Malfoy scion decided to do what he usually did, feign ignorance.

Much like every other thing that had happens, the Slytherins decided to take a page from Abraxas' book, and continued on as if nothing _had_ happened; but no amount of ignorance could stop the tension in the air from being intensely thick and uncomfortable.

It was only Tom seemed at ease within all the discomfort, a conductor who had just seen his piece well-played.

"So, my fellow Slytherins..."

* * *

"There's an initiation into Slytherin? How surprising. It's just like every other 'secret' society out there."

Alphard laughed, but Lillith saw the unease in his grey eyes.

_Probably from that Black feud, way up at the Head..._

"Oh, come on, Lily! It'll be easy..."

Raising an eyebrow, Lillith stared disbelievingly, speaking doubtfully, "Easy? Yeah, sure... With Riddle as the Head, King, Grand Poobah or whatever, everything will be anything but. In fact, it'll probably be either, well, it probably _is_ sadistic, nosy, and incredibly **evil**."

"You're just about right," said Alphard, grinning.

"Oh, how you comfort me..." Lillith sighed and slung a thin arm around Alphard's broad shoulders, then thought of something urgent, "WAIT, no one, I mean, uh, no one has, you know...died, right?"

Staring at her, Alphard's face loomed forward causing eerie shadows to dance across his face, caused from the flickering candles.

"Well, now you remind me of it, there _was_ this one year... A girl that was about your height, weight and with pretty similar looks was put through initiation and didn't come back out the same. I was in my first-year so I'm not so sure of the details, but I heard that she had been dragged into the room by her hair and questioned until she broke, and then forced to do and bear the unspeakable. The way her screams echoed throu—" Pausing, Alphard burst into a fit of chuckles as he caught sight of Lillith's disturbed face.

"Wha—? What is **wrong** with you! I, argh, you, uh, OH MY GOD!" Swinging her balled up fists at Alphard's shoulder for awhile, Lillith then too, burst into laughter.

"Oww. Ow. Ouch! If you keep this up, you crazy fury, you'll have no trouble doing whatever they make you do in initiation tonight."

"What do you mean by 'whatever'? You did it as well, so wouldn't you know?"

"Yeah, actually, no... Well, I sort of did, but I had friends who were "nobles", being a Black and all, and that all but guaranteed me definite access onto the top, even as a first-year. Plus, initiation is changed every year, designed by whomever the 'King' of our house is, and in this case it's Riddle. After initiation, your rank amongst other house members will be decided, as well as the rank you hold within that group you are ranked into."

Lillith nodded her head slowly in understanding, "Yeah, how simple... So, there's ranks within ranks, huh? Oh, and that reminds me, why aren't you up there, at the Head? I mean, even if you are _slightly_ queer, you're still a Black, whether it's name only or not. I could probably bet that the snobbish looking one with short black hair and the guy with the comb-over are your siblings, while the bitchy-looking girl with long hair, that is pointedly glaring, could be your distant relative of some sort. Wouldn't they, at least, have vouched for you?"

"Cygnus and Walburga? Yeah, that's right. I guess if I put some sort of label on it, they'd be my siblings. Cygnus' my nasty, itty-bitty bro. Snobbish one named Walburga is my twin, actually. The bitchy one is the cousin, Lucretia, whose also the self-proclaimed Queen of Slytherin much to her ire," Alphard paused, sneering contemptuously, "Riddle wouldn't crown anyone his Queen anyway, no matter what girls hope, since he's romantically uninterested in them all. Oh, and to answer you're question, the Blacks have no sense of family whatsoever."

Lillith could hear Alphard's falsely joyful tone with a heavily sardonic undertone, and decided to not push him, "Sorry. —So, he's gay? Tom, I mean?...Figures."

Alphard raised his brows, expression wistful for a split moment before replying, "Aha, I wished, but no. Apart from the occasional indulgence in sex for his own benefits, Tom's pretty much asexual. Actually, for the past year or so, he's been distant from everyone and everything, as if it all bores him. As if _we_ all bore him."

"But, _that_ was until he met _you_. Tom seems into you, in his own rather twisted way, even if you do seem rather unspectacular with your messy hair and unfeminine attitude, which is all people have been looking at so far. Meaning that: though he's subtle with that small, almost miniscule, amount of interest in you, almost every girl in this House will still know. And since Tom having any real interest is very rare, they are all probably, most definitely, out to get you. Oh, and so you know, they will, with no doubt, stop at nothing to make you're gone in the end."

"Great reassurance there, Alphie. I really needed that deep insight of what my fate is to be. Now, I'm sure I'll be safe, loved and adored in this house, and I can be sure to sleep soundly."

His deep chuckle resounded through the hall. "Thought we've already established that Alphie? Really? Makes me sound, I don't know...maybe, y'know, _gay_?"

"You _are_ gay, Alphie. Alphard is way too mature for you; too suave and cool."

"Yeah, well, I'm your only friend, so there. Probably will be your only friend too."

They both giggled like children, it had been so long that Lillith had giggled with such pointless mirth. She felt not the anger and jealousy, the emotions that she secretly harboured against her friends, Harry's old friends. _Maybe this is where I belong, amongst the ones who've felt unloved and my same pain. It's quite sad to say that I fit in with just one friend in a cold, slimy House of Snakes._

She smiled as Alphard continued to fool around, acting much like Ron with his behaviour, a more cynical and witty Ron, that is.

At the thought of Ron, anger and sadness just boiled up and burnt her insides with grief, steam was probably escaping her ears as she felt the familiar tears prickling her eyes.

**_Heh. _**A dark and sinister tenor.

Then she knew. It was back.

* * *

Leaving the Hall, coincidently at the same time as the "nobles" of Slytherin, Alphard and Lillith almost collided into a bunch of them. Cold glares and pointed looks were given, as if they were inferior, and in a way, they probably were. He, because of his sexuality, while she, because she was new and by being with the former; a freak by association.

Both groups just paused there, eyes clashing with one another, and neither groups would submit to the pressure of other.

The awkward weight looks given to her by the majority of the "nobles" made Lillith feel like some sort of aberration found in a zoo. The caginess vexed her as it made her reminisce of how it was like as Harry Potter.

_But, then again, I'll still never be **him** again._

"What are you staring at?" Lillith calmly stated with bitter, anger-laced words, breaking the heavy silence that was instilled upon them.

She was looking at a group of boys staring blatantly at her, but the comment was only directed at one. The only one who was intent on burning through her with his dark eyes.

She watched his green eyes tint red as they glared, but within the depth, Lillith saw something that she hadn't recognized, something that would probably be unimaginable for the Dark Lord.

_A trick of the eye, a trick of the eye._

He smirked frostily, stepping to the front of the small exclusive group.

"It is a pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Evans. I don't believe I was heard on the train, so I shall introduce myself again. Tom Riddle, at your service," stated Riddle, his voice falsely pleasant.

"Pleasure's all yours," retorted Lillith cheekily, matching the grin she gave.

An inhale was chorused at her impudence towards their sovereign.

Tom merely rose a brow, as if he was apathetic of such actions towards him, but the dark fire in his eyes just became smouldering hot with fury.

No one spoke again, and the groups resumed to their previous stare-off.

A silence hung in the air, emphasizing on the tensed atmosphere. You could feel the weight of it smothering you slowly as it chose to squeeze the life from your lungs.

Then it was broken abruptly by a snooty voice of one Lucretia Black, "How dare _you_? How can someone like you speak to_ Tom Riddle _like that?"

"At least, I have some _self_-respect, and decided not to worship the air he breathes like some others," Lillith responded disdainfully.

Sneering, Lucretia turned on Alphard, " And, _you_. I see that you, Alphard, have reduced yourself into some muggle-loving faggot who sullies the name of Black by breathing. '_Toujours pur,' _our family that and _weep_."

She advanced on the duo like a lioness stalking it's prey, gleeful joy in her eyes as Alphard's darkened further with melancholy in time with each of her steps.

Reaching forward towards Lillith's face and gripping her jaw tightly with her nails, Lucretia smiled sardonically, "Hmph. You should give up those delusions of adequacy, new girl. You're just a—"

Without batting an eye, Lillith ripped her face out of the scratching grip and shoved the girl hard, causing Lucretia to stumble backwards unstably and onto the cold marble tiles.

_Perks of being a girl? Getting to beat down this bitch and not being berated. Score._

Sneering down at the girl, Lillith spoke with a heated yet chilling tone, "Keep your vapid ideals to yourself, you loud-mouthed harpy."

Lillith then swiftly spun upon her heel, quickly took the chance to drag a gaping Alphard along through the doors, leaving the "nobles" in her wake; but not before audaciously flipping them the bird.

Tom whispered barely above a murmur, though heard by both, the inquisitive Abraxas and the jealous and spiteful, Lucretia, "Good luck tonight, Ms. Evans_._"

_'Cause you'll fucking need it._

* * *

**REWRITTEN: May 24, 2011.**

**READ&REVIEW. I really will love you forever.**

P.S. Flames count as reviews too. :) ...But rather than an actual response, I'll probably just laugh at them.


	5. NOT AN UPDATE

THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE.

* * *

Dear reader,

This is the author of the fic, Rosellyia. If you have been reading this fic, I'm sad to say that it has been put on semi-permanent hiatus.

I had actually completed most of this story a while back during January; typed, edited, and ready to go. However, I had neglected actually posting any of those chapters, much to my regret, and they just sat in my computer like sad, little abandoned kittens in the rain.

It seemed that every time I went to publish a chapter, I'd catch some teeny-weeny-tiny mistake of some sort and the chapter would end up being re-edited, over and over and _over_ again. Tedious work, it was. But I just couldn't quit.

Sadly, one day, I end up getting fed-up and stopped editing. But then without the constant need to edit, I eventually ended up forgetting about the story and all the chapters I'd already wrote.

You're a probably all like, "Well, just edit and post them, now. It's been like FOREVER since an actual update. Geeez."

Yeah, and that's the thing.

While I _had_ most of the chapters all typed, I don't anymore. (note: 'had' is a past tense) I was stupid and ended up losing my laptop in Heathrow airport.

FUN TIMES.

I want to re-type everything and just post everything in one go before I forget everything, but there's something that makes me feel too disheartened to just re-write it all. I mean, I often spend unneeded hours just working on a single chapter, and I guess I don't want to rush my story this time around when I put so much effort into it before.

So, I'm going on a semi-permanent hiatus while I work things out about this fic.

God, I feel like such jerk for even saying all that, especially to those who read, reviewed, favourited and followed this fic.

BUT, don't worry people, this fic _will_ be continued...

Eventually...

And I'm not even going to guess if I'm ever going to finish it.

Toodles,

Rosellyia


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